La Bella Mafia
by BigRedMachineUK
Summary: *ON HIATUS* Amy Dumas marries into a powerful Mafia family, but behind the pretty face and street-savvy exterior lie shocking secrets from her past that could return to haunt her and ultimately tear her new family apart. AU. Mafia fic.
1. An Heir is Silenced

_**A/N: Hi y'all! I know it's been a long while with this story. But don't worry. I've been working on it. I made a few changes after taking it down to revise it. Now it's up and running again. Hope you enjoy reading it. Please, please, please read and review. Thank you!**_

_**This is La Bella Mafia. Enjoy!**_

* * *

_**An Heir is Silenced**_

The woman sat on the bed, gathering the thin bed sheet covers up to her chest as she glanced nervously at the man on the other side of the bed. As she watched his bare back, thoughts raced frantically through her mind. She had known this was trouble. She had known this was wrong. But she went ahead anyway, and now this happened.

She remembered how they had started meeting in the first place: they had literally bumped into each other at the flea market in town, and things unpredictably exploded from there. They spent many passionate afternoons in this little shack she called her home. It was clear what had attracted her to him; his long, sleek blond hair, captivating green eyes and equally captivating body. He was a physical specimen not of this world. And he was an amazing, _amazing_ lover. But to her shock, their lovemaking from five weeks' back had turned out to be a little _too_ amazing…

She had nothing to offer him. She was only a poor peasant girl who made ladies' hair for a living; a hairdresser. He on the other hand was the son of the owner of that very famous wrestling company a few miles down the road. He thought she didn't know too much about him, but she did. And it was obvious by the way he kept taking off afterwards that his father knew nothing about this. So how was he going to react when to this news?

He was talking on his cell phone. When the call ended he grabbed his pants and put them on. She was so lost in her thoughts she didn't hear him call her name. He was looking at her. "I was saying that I have to go. Business calls. Same time tomorrow?"

He smiled that incredibly sexy grin that made her melt, and ironically had got her into this predicament. He leaned across the bed and kissed her quickly on the lips, which she received with dispassion, but it went unnoticed by her lover in his hurry to leave. The second he disappeared, she sighed heavily and ran her hand over her belly. A good fifteen minutes had passed when she made her decision. She began to dress up. She was going to meet him and inform him of the life that was growing inside of her, which happened to be her child. _His_ child.

If that wasn't business for him as well, then she didn't know what was.

* * *

The man drove his white Cadillac Escalade down the long road leading up the warehouse. A text had just come in on his phone inform him of the change of venue for the meeting with Vincent, his father. Since when did he start holding meetings at the warehouse? They were always done at his office back home. But he couldn't dwell too much on that. He was late. He was sure his brothers were there as well, waiting for him.

He was one of six sons, all of whom he loved and respected. Each of them aided in the running of the Family business, and possessed special traits that made them invaluable to their father. He was the one who had firsthand information about everyone. His Human Resources background and innate inquisitiveness made him the consummate researcher. He was methodical, organized and sneaky. That probably explained why to this day, his extra-curricular affairs were unknown to his brothers and father. He knew what to do, where to hide and how to lie.

He only wondered what they would do when they eventually found out about his secret liaisons. That was one punishment he would not care about. He would have rather been banished than be with that excuse for a woman, Candice. So what if her father owned the biggest paper mill in the country? She was all tits and ass and very little going between the ears.

But _her_; the beautiful brunette he'd been seeing for a few weeks now. Now that was a real woman. She was smart and beautiful and sexy, everything he ever wanted. He wanted so badly to make known his feelings for her, but he hadn't summed up the courage. The mirror was much easier to talk to. But then again, there was tomorrow. He would finally tell her, and even show her to his family if things went well. He loved her for _who_ she was, not _what_, and they would just have to live with that.

He drove up to the warehouse gates and honked. Neither Hawkins nor Ryder, the two gatemen, had emerged, which was strange. They were always there. Already impatient, he climbed out of the car and walked towards the small guardhouse. He sniffed the air lightly and froze. He sniffed again. That smell, he thought as he kept walking, more carefully now, he knew it anywhere. It was the familiar scent of death, and it grew stronger as he approached the guardhouse. He looked inside, and the two men lay there in a large pool of their own blood. He had wondered why his father wanted to hold the meeting at the warehouse. That was because he _never_ did. He had walked right into a setup.

He grabbed his pistol from the back of his pants, and cautiously edged his way back to his car. How uncharacteristic of him, falling into such an obvious trap.

Suddenly he felt himself being yanked up in the air and forced towards the exit. He was flung down hard onto a car. He tried to get a look at his assailants, but they were masked. He was hoisted back up, and this time he lashed out, his fist connecting with the jaw of the man behind him. The second man spun him round and struck him hard across his face with the butt of his gun.

"You'll pay for that, you son of a bitch!" the first man growled, as he tasted his own blood. "Let's finish this bastard off, Jamal!"

The man called Jamal seized his arms, and his green eyes widened as the unmistakable feel of the barrel of a gun pressed against his stomach.

As the bullets pumped into him, the last thing on Adam's mind was for God to take care of the beautiful brunette he had fallen in love with.

* * *

Her bicycle clattered as she followed the white Cadillac from a safe distance, her heart fluttering wildly every passing second. How would he react? She had no doubt it was his; she was a virgin when they began their affair and she hadn't been with anyone else since. But what if he thought she was lying? She couldn't bear the rejection, but it had to be done. She had to tell him.

The Cadillac stopped in front of what looked like a large warehouse. She watched him climb out of the car and go inside. Not long after she spotted a black car move up right behind the Cadillac. Two masked men climbed out of the car. Sensing that something was wrong, she took her bicycle into a nearby bush and hid there with it to watch.

She inhaled a sharp breath as she heard a scuffle. Craning her neck to see, her eyes grew as wide as saucers as she saw the two men drag her lover out and smash him onto their car. She watched him with a sense of pride as he tried to fight back. Then one of the assailants brought out a gun from his pocket and pressed it to his stomach. The gunshots rang out in the air, watching in utmost horror as the face of her baby's father drained of all its life.

Had Amy not fainted, she would have screamed.

* * *

Adam was buried a month later in a private ceremony. Vince stood at the foot of the grave beside his wife Linda as the coffin was lowered. She sobbed openly, clinging to her husband for support. He on the other hand, refused to show his emotions. One of them had to be strong.

But it was not an easy task. His son was dead, brutally murdered. Vincent remembered seeing his son's lifeless, battered body dumped in front of the huge iron gates of their mansion. His brothers had found him, but not who had done it. That would be taken care of. But now, it was time to mourn. He looked around at his other sons. They were all dry-eyed as he was, but he could sense, he could feel, their pain. None of them would ever be the same again.

Vince's only daughter, Stephanie, picked up the first grains of sand and tearfully scattered them onto the coffin. She then stepped away for her brothers. One by one they did the same. Vincent felt his heart break as he watched his son Jason approach the grave. Jason was obviously fighting a battle from within to stay collected. Vince could not blame him. As twins, the two boys had a special bond. As Jason sprinkled the soil over the coffin, his voice was cold and vengeful. "We'll get them, Adam," he whispered. "I swear on your grave, we will avenge you."

It was a promise he hoped he, his father and his brothers would live to keep.

Four months on, and three miles away from the cemetery in which Adam McMahon was to rest for eternity, Amy Dumas lay heaving in a bed of straw. She was sweating profusely, the pangs of labor wearing her young body out. An old woman by the name of Madame Moolah crouched between the woman's legs. "Push, my dear! You're almost there!"

"Mama! I can't…" She cried out again as the baby began to fight its way through her. She gripped her mother's hand tightly, and her mother held her close, wiping away at her daughter's sweat. "You have to push, my girl," her mother encouraged. "Push for your baby! Give it all you've got!"

Tears of excruciating pain rolled down her cheeks. Breathing rapidly, she bit hard on her gold cross in an unsuccessful attempt to stifle her screaming. Moolah's hands were burrowed inside of her in anticipation of the baby. "One more, _cara_, one more!" she urged.

Amy threw her head back and screamed loudly as she gave one final push. She felt something slick slip out from between her legs, and then shrill, grated crying. Amy hung her head back tiredly, her breaths coming in short, weary pants.

Moolah cleaned the baby up. "His health is excellent for a premature baby. Well done, my dear." She wrapped the baby in a small blanket and handed him over to his mother.

"A boy," Amy breathed.

"He's so beautiful," Amy's mother gushed in awe at the sight of her grandson. Amy held him in her arms, her physical pain evaporating with just one look at his tiny face. He had the green eyes of his father and dark hair of his mother. She removed the necklace she was wearing and put it around his tiny chubby neck. There was only one name she was going to give her boy the minute she'd accepted that she was going to have this baby.

"Hey there, Randall," she whispered tenderly. This was a historic event. As a McMahon was taken away from this world, another was being brought into it. But as prophetic as it sounded, the repercussions of this birth, unbeknownst to her, was going to be felt for decades to come.


	2. Song of the Snitch

_**Song of the Snitch**_

_Three months later…_

"Don McMahon, Don Callaway is here."

Vincent wheeled his chair around to face the messenger. "Let him in, Kofi."

A minute later a tall man entered, dressed in black and wielding his trusty, expensive-looking walking stick. Don Marcus Callaway was Vince's cousin, his only true extended family and one of the very few people that Vince trusted. Marcus himself was once a successful professional wrestler in Vincent's company, when the latter's father, Vincent Sr. was running the organization, before retiring and opening a flourishing funeral services company, Dead Man Incorporated. A few years before, Marcus had lost his only son in a plane crash, and later, his wife, to the heartbreak of losing him. Of course, the enemies thought that this signified the end of the great Marcus Callaway, but he was still going strong. It was the McMahon blood, Mark's mother's blood, running in his veins. The walking stick, though aiding his movements, just added to the godlike mystique of the man.

"Marcus," Vince said simply.

"Vincent," the tall, dark-and-grey haired man replied with a slight nod. There was little time for pleasantries in a situation like this. Marcus took a seat across his cousin. He noticed how the stress of the past months took its toll on Vince, an already aging man. But Mark knew Vince well. He was never one to show weakness.

"You said you have news for me," said Vince.

Marcus leaned forwards in his seat, tapping his stick lightly on the ground. "Yes. Good and bad. The good news is that we got Hardy."

A tense pause. "Good." Weeks after Adam's death, the McMahons learnt that one of their trusted Capos, Matthew Hardy, had been the one who made the call to Adam the afternoon he died. But until now he had been hiding in the woods on the outskirts of New Hampshire. One of Mark's Capos sniffed him out days ago and brought him in.

"And the bad?"

"Bischoff's still nowhere to be found."

Angry lines appeared on the older man's face, but his voice was calm when he spoke. "We'll get him in due time. Even if it takes twenty years, we'll get him. We never fail. Now, where's Hardy?"

Mark snapped his fingers at the two huge men standing behind him, the Russian Vladimir Kozlov and an Indian man called Khali. Both left the room and returned dragging a burly, visibly petrified man. He gulped on seeing Vince. Of all the dumb things he had ever done in his life, betraying Vincent McMahon topped the list. He should have known better as he knew firsthand what the McMahons were capable of. They never forgot and they never forgave disloyalty.

Vince pressed a button on the intercom beside his desk. "Jay, get your brothers and come down to the office," he said before letting go of the button. Minutes later five men walked into the office, and Matthew had the sudden urge to vomit. Vince watched proudly as they filed in one by one.

Shane was the oldest and the Underboss, a shrewd businessman, strong-willed and calculating like Vincent. He was the analytical mind of the Family. He determined what the Family was going to be involved in, who to do business with, and when and how the runs were going to be operated. Despite his insightfulness, he never hesitated to clip anyone who dared cross his path. He helped his father run the wrestling company.

David, the second, was the calm and collected one, but those traits were overshadowed by his massive size. It was of great use in negotiations, making anyone think twice about trying to intimidate him. He ran the other money-making machines; the clubs, where most of the drugs were sold; and the casinos, where the illegal gambling operations took place.

Christopher was the silver-tongued one. Charismatic and witty, he could talk his way out of anything. His words could change white to black. It was no surprise that he was now a successful young lawyer, and as one of the leading attorneys in the city, he had top Chief Judges and a good portion of the police force in his back pocket. Basically his job was to keep the law off the Family's back.

John, at nineteen, was the youngest and most hot-headed son, no thanks to the "gangsta" rappers he kept listening to and emulating. His actions spoke much louder than his words. He was the quickest to kill or hurt, making him very unpredictable and dangerous. Because he was "down with the 'hood", he was the McMahons' eyes and ears of the underworld, informing them of whatever went down there. John handled the drug trafficking operations, and was responsible for the ones that were sold to the streets.

Jason was Adam's twin brother; a typical Casanova, with blond hair and piercing blue eyes that drove the ladies wild. Women – single, young and ditzy, married, rich and powerful – jumped into his bed like he contained the Elixir of Life. They told him their deepest, darkest secrets; secrets that more often than not, got husbands in deep shit and turned the wives into widows, or corpses. The lucky ones ended up either as penniless divorcees or in the Witness Protection Program. Currently, Jason oversaw the thriving massage parlor, the cover-up for the brothel the Family ran.

John came in ahead of his brothers. Catching sight of Marcus he went to him and took his hand, kissing his ring. "Don Callaway."

"John."

The other brothers followed John's actions. "You wanted us, father?" asked Shane.

Vincent nodded towards Matt Hardy. "Look who paid us a visit."

As soon as John caught sight of Matt, he lunged. Luckily, Kozlov and Khali were on hand and held him back. Chris and Dave put a hand each on John's shoulders, but both struggled with their own self-restraint. They all knew what Hardy had done, and all dreamed about what each would do to him if they found him.

"You have to answer for Adam, Matthew," Shane started, cutting straight to the chase. "You fingered him for Bischoff, didn't you?"

Like sharks smelling blood, everyone in the room could smell his guilt, his fear, coupled with the fact that he looked like he was about to piss his pants. "I don't know anything, I swear-" he started.

"Goddamn," John hissed. Without hesitation he pulled out his gun, and stepping forward, he fired at Matt's shin.

The scream was earsplitting. Matt collapsed to the ground, rolling around and gripping his shin in pain. Shane glared at his youngest brother. "Damn it, John, what the hell is wrong with you?" he reprimanded, gesturing for Kozlov and Khali to pick Matt up and place him back on the chair.

"Think we stupid, Hardy? Huh?" John was livid, and he was brandishing that gun around dangerously.

"John!" Chris warned, pulling him away. "Now you might want to rephrase that, Matt. We know you're lying, and telling us otherwise insults our intelligence. Now, when and how did you start dealing with Bischoff?

When Matt didn't talk immediately, an irritated Jay pulled out his own gun and squatted in front of him. "Answer his question, or the other leg's mine."

Matt nodded, gasping and shaking violently from the pain searing through him. "Okay…okay." He swallowed hard in an attempt to moisten his dry throat. "I been Bischoff's mole since February…"

Shane's eyes narrowed as he did the math in his head. This was September. That made it seven months.

"He came to me with a proposition. He promised to make me his Underboss if I could find out who hacked into his WCW files. I found out it was Adam…" He winced and blinked back his tears of pain, "and when I told him, he said not to worry 'bout it no more. I swear to God I didn't know he was going to _kill _him. I know he was also pissed that you-" he gestured towards Vince with strained effort, "-you refused to traffic drugs for 'em. So I text Adam, and said he should go to the warehouse where you'd all be waitin'."

"So who did the dirty work?" asked Chris.

"I'm not sure, but…" He gave a start, wincing when he saw John clench his gun. "It might have been Jamal…and Rosey," Matt spluttered.

The statement was met by stunned silence. "No way!" said Chris, turning to Vince.

Shane looked deep in thought. "So that's what those sons of bitches have been up to. I've not seen them in months."

"Where's Bischoff?" Jay asked Matt, whose eyes widened. "I swear to you, I don't know. He didn't…No! Wait wait wait, please!" He started screaming when Jay pressed the barrel of the gun against his good kneecap. "Please! He didn't tell me anything more! I don't know where he is, I swear to God!"

"I think that's all he knows, Jay," said David, speaking for the first time. "It's obvious that he's nothing more than a pawn to Bischoff."

Jay was still and silent as he took in the words of his older brother. Then he backed off, standing upright again. Matt shut his eyes tightly, ruing the day he ever met Eric Bischoff.

"We have to find Bischoff," said Marcus.

"No we don't."

They all turned to Shane in surprise. "I'm serious. What's the hurry?" he asked. "Let's go about our business as usual."

John was angry. "Now I know y'alls trippin'…"

"Calm down, John," Vince said. Obviously his oldest son had a reason for saying what he said. "Do you doubt us? Do you doubt your family's capabilities?"

John sobered up immediately. "No. never," he said sheepishly, mortified that his father would even think that.

Shane continued. "Don't worry John. Chris and I have been busy, dabbling in real estate as of late. We acquired a few properties here and there around the country. One thing these transactions have in common is that they all used to belong to one man. Eric Bischoff."

Mark raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "No kiddin'."

"Nope. Sold them off at quarter the prices." Chris leaned against the table, his demeanor animated as he informed them of his master plan. "We pick him apart one by one. Close down his businesses, buy out his crews and get them to work for us."

Jay's eyes lit up. "Of course. Watch how long he lasts hiding while his empire falls into the enemy's hands. His ego's too big to stand back for too long."

Shane nodded. "That's what we're counting on."

Dave said, going up to him, his huge arms crossed over his massive chest. "You disappoint me, Hardy," he said. "You throw away a promising life like yours for swine like Eric Bischoff? You do realize that you had much more power here than with Bischoff, Matt? How could you be so stupid? Huh? What, did you think we wouldn't find you? Or we would just let this slide?"

A desperate Matt made one last plea for his life. "I made a terrible mistake, Godfather. I am young and foolish and power-hungry. Forgive me. I will do anything you want."

"Yes, the pitfalls of what quest for power does to a person," Vince mused philosophically. "That is the wrong way to approach things. A man should first seek the respect of friends, family, colleagues; the power will come eventually. But you tried to take the short cut, Matthew. You tried to speed things up for yourself, and as a result of your actions, my son is dead." Vince shook his head slowly. "I will _never_ forgive that."

"Please, Godfather…Don!" he turned pleading eyes in Marcus' direction, but the old man merely shook his head.

John bent down and got in his face. "Sorry ain't bringin' back my brother, faggot."

Chris, Dave, Shane and Jason sent him murderous stares. Matt began to savor the breaths he took, because he realized they were going to be his last.

"Now that we've figured this out," said Dave, jerking his head towards Swagger. "What are we gonna do with him?"

John turned to Vincent, a hopeful look in his eyes. Vince saw similar looks in his remaining sons. Without a word, he waved dismissively.

"Basement," John said immediately, and the others nodded in agreement. Matt's eyes widened. "No! Please! Anywhere but the basement!"

John rubbed his hands with glee. "Oh, I'm going to love this." He gestured for Kozlov and Khali to pick Matt up, whose wide eyes darted from John to Jason to Shane as he was dragged out of the office. "Please, please!" he begged desperately, "I'll do anything, just don't kill me-"

"No, no, we're not going to kill you," Shane said facetiously as they left the office. "But you will wish you were dead when we're through with you."

"Couldn't have asked for better kids," Mark said when the kids were gone.

A slight blush crept up the back of the older man's neck. "They're very much yours as they are mine, Mark."

Mark cracked a smile. He was touched, but he said nothing further. Vince leaned forwards and massaged his temples. "And to think all this bullshit started because I refused to use my company to traffic drugs."

"And you must always stand by that," Mark insisted, "There're some things we can dare to do, but drugs in sports? The Feds will be up our asses 24-7."

Vince got out of his chair. "We should celebrate. Soon Eric Bischoff will be smoked out from wherever he's hiding and face what's coming to him."

Mark shrugged. "I'm very much looking forward to it."

"Bischoff should never have touched my son." Vince said as he went to his mini-bar and began to fix two drinks. "He's going to learn not to fuck with me, once and for all." He handed a glass of scotch to Mark, and raised his own in a toast. "To the downfall of WCW."

Mark smiled darkly and raised his glass as well. "To the downfall of Eric Bischoff."

And so, with those words, with the mere snap of his fingers, Vince McMahon began a war.

**A/N: Just in case anybody's wondering; I know Batista may not look all that Caucasian, but I wanted him in this story. I just like the guy. Thanks for the feedback! *hint hint* **


	3. Heartbreaking Decisions

_**Heartbreaking Decisions**_

"Adoption? You want to give him up for _adoption_?"

Sandra Dumas stared at her daughter as if she'd grown another head. Amy held her incredulous gaze, sighing deeply. "Mother, you have to understand…"

"If this is about age, then you have another thing coming!" Sandra interrupted, "How old do you think I was when I had you? I was fifteen. _Fifteen_, Amelia! And I still managed to take care of you. Fifteen and seventeen are not too far off."

"I never said anything about my age!"

"You knew the consequences when you went off sleeping with that McMahon boy didn't you? Of all the boys you could find in the community, it just had to be Vince McMahon's son. Dear me!"

"We loved each other, mom," she protested.

"You're a baby, Amelia!" Right now Sandra was very annoyed at Amy. "What on earth do you know about love? Now you're giving your son away? Are you trying to run away from your responsibilities?"

"Mother!" Amy shouted, making Sandra jump, "I'm not running away from anything! You know me much better than that!"

Sandra gaped at her daughter with wide eyes. Amelia had never raised her voice at her. Ever.

"Adam was murdered in cold blood!" Amy went on, angrily wiping the tears out of her eyes. The pain was there for all to see in her hazel eyes as she was forced to come to terms with the terrible reality of her words. "We both know who his family is, and I can't let them find out about him. Hell, with everything that's going on, I can't let _anyone _find out about him. What do you think will happen if word got out that Adam McMahon had an illegitimate son? I cannot put Randall in danger, mother." She paused, looking down for a second before looking into her mother's eyes. "I will not let him die the way his father did. I'd rather he lived in anonymity for the rest of his life, all the while knowing that he's safe wherever he is."

Tense silence followed, both women staring nervously at each other. Just then the baby started crying, upset that his sleep had been disturbed. Amy went over to the bed and picked her son up, cooing and petting him. Sandra gazed at her daughter and saw the torn, devastated expression in her eyes. Giving up Randall was obviously hurting her. The guilt and the pain of having seen her love perish was still the very sore, open wound it was all those months ago. This was a very heavy burden for a child so young and so tender to be carrying on her shoulders. Sandra suddenly felt sorry she'd yelled at her.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she said quietly, moving closer to her daughter. "I'm just so worried about everything that's going on. I just wish your son would grow up to see his mother."

"He will, mama, just not now," Amy insisted. Over the period after Adam's death, and giving birth to her son, she had been forced to think through her life. One thing that remained constant was that she still wanted to become a professional wrestler. Her dream was to work for the famous WWE, make some money and retire happily. But she'd entered into the affair with Adam when the war between WWE and WCW was starting to escalate. Fast forward time now and it was utter mayhem. Disgruntled employees were either defecting to the other side or singing like they were on American Idol. Homes were being torched. Loyalists were being martyred. Amy could not bring her son into this type of environment, but she was willing to risk her own life and delve into the hot lava, because she was a strong woman. She could handle it. And she had ability that was raw, natural and undeniable. She trained a lot with the boys at high school, and the school's wrestling coach adored her. He told her the talent scouts would snap her up the minute they saw her, and she believed him. She just had to hope by the time she joined the organization everything happening off the field would have mellowed. She just wanted to have her stint and then get out. Amy had her plan set in stone. She would go out there, make a name for herself, and then get her mother and her son out of this place for a better life. She was doing this for Randall. He was now her only motivation to follow her dream.

Amy walked around the room for a bit, gently bouncing her son about as she spoke. "He will see me, soon. For now I will just be watching from a distance. When everything is safe again, I'll come back for him. I promise." She sighed heavily, looking at Randall for a moment, and then back to her mother. "I'm ready to go to the adoption center. I need some help with my bag, mother."

"Certainly, sweetheart." Sandra picked up her daughter's little bag and followed her out of the shack. After placing the bag and her baby in their proper places on her bicycle, Amy turned to her mother. Both of them understood that this was the last time she would be seeing her for a very long time.

Sandra was taking this very hard. "Amelia…" she started, her lip trembling. Her baby was leaving her, and she found it too much to bear. She broke down in tears. With a playful, tearful groan, Amy pulled her mother into a tight, loving embrace.

"I love you very, very much, Amelia," Sandra whispered in her ear.

"I love you too, mama," answered Amy. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Sandra reluctantly let go of her daughter as she pulled away. Amy got on the bicycle, turning to look at Sandra one last time before riding off down the road. Sandra waved until the girl was no longer in sight.

Amy never stopped thinking about her son. Each day that passed by she wondered what he looked like; whether he could smile yet, if his hair had grown some more. She consoled herself with her dream of her little boy becoming someone special when he grew up. It was in his blood. He was a McMahon after all. She envisioned being reunited with him sooner than planned, in which by then he would have made an impact in this community.

If she could see the future, she would have taken back that wish in a heartbeat.

_**A/N: Hope you liked that. In Chapter 4 we fast-forward a few years and meet the boy at the center of it all. Stay tuned!**_


	4. Randy Orton Ross

**A/N: Phew! Writing this story has been a bit tough, but hey, I'm hanging in there. Please read and review! Suggestions as to how the story should go will also be welcomed. Thanks and enjoy! **

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_**Randy Orton Ross**_

"So, what'll it be, boys?" Randy asked the two huge men sitting across from him as he cleaned a glass with a napkin.

"Hey Randy!" one of them, a big man named Kevin Nash said, "Get a guy a shot of whiskey!"

"Make that three!" his friend Scott Hall chimed in a slurry voice, causing Nash to eye him disapprovingly. "Dude, you already had a drink before we came here," Nash pointed out, wagging a warning finger at Randy behind Hall's back.

Randy simply chuckled as he went to the back, returning a few moments and placing a whiskey in front of Nash. "Here," he said to Hall, handing him a bottle of water. "Much better alternative."

Hall stared at the water like it was a demon. "No, man! Don't want no water! Chico want beer! Chico want whiskey!"

"Shut up, man!" Nash exclaimed in embarrassment, pulling Hall to his feet and leading him towards the exit of the bar.

"Hey!" Randy called out to them, holding up the water. "You forgot your water!"

Nash returned, still dragging his friend about, and took the bottle from Randy with an apologetic smile. Hall's drunken gaze settled on Randy's neck. He pointed at the gold crucifix the dark-haired teen was wearing. "Hey, how much you say you was sellin' that for?"

He reached for the necklace. Nash managed to yank him back, but Randy's hand was already up protecting his neck. He was taller and stronger than the average seventeen-year-old, anyway, so he could take on the guy any day. "I didn't," he said, pursing his lips irritably.

"Sorry, man. You know how this moron can get," Kevin Nash apologized, ignoring the offended look on his friend's face and dragging him back out of the bar.

"Make sure he gets some sleep!" Randy waved them goodbye and went back into the kitchen. He sighed to himself as he looked down lovingly at the gold crucifix, trimmed with black lining with a heart in the middle of the cross. It was the most precious thing he had, not by its actual value, but by the fact that his mother had left it to him, right before she died. In her honor, the jewelry never left his neck, not once in all his seventeen years of existence. He never knew anything about, or what even had become of his father.

He checked himself in the mirror and grinned. But if his physical features were anything to go by, then both of his parents must have been smoking hot. Tall, dark and handsome, with captivating green eyes, Randy was what a girl would call a "stud", or "hot" or…you get the drift. He'd had girlfriends but his relationships never became serious, which was a good thing anyway. He was too busy running his foster father's Inn while he was out working.

Just then, a stout man wearing a black cowboy hat entered into the kitchen, and Randy turned and grinned. _Speak of the devil_.

The man took off his jacket, then took off his hat and placed it on top of the table. Randy sent the man a welcoming smile. "Evening, Jim."

"Randy," he replied, going for the sink and washing his hands. "How's business going today?"

"Good as always. Hall's wasted again, and it's barely midnight."

"As far as he's giving us his money and not causing any fights, that's fine with me. The man's nuttier than a pet coon anyways."

Although it was a rather run-down quip, Randy laughed anyway. Jim Ross was the only parent he ever knew. To the Inn's patrons he was Randy Orton Ross, son of Jim, the man who had raised him in his infancy and given him his middle name. They got along with each other marvelously, and Randy looked up to him.

Jim was working for the wrestling company, the one rumored to be run by the Connecticut Mafia, as their top ringside commentator. Initially Randy could have cared less about who this people were, but soon enough they became omnipresent. He had never met any of the McMahons before, but if the stories he kept hearing in high school was anything to go by, then they were the most ruthless SOBs walking the face of the earth. Now Randy was vaguely aware of some court case that was currently going on involving the McMahons, and being a close associate of theirs, Jim was involved. Before the trial began Jim used to let Randy watch the wrestling on TV, but for a long time now, he'd been keeping Randy away from the television set and the papers so he would not have to know exactly what was going on with regards to the court case. A few patrons at the bar talked about it, but they never said things about it that the teen did not already know.

Randy struggled to understand why Jim didn't pack up and retire already. Yeah, so JR had been working for them for nearly thirty years. The Family treated him well and the money kept coming in smoothly, and Randy and Jim stayed largely unscathed by the McMahons because of his father's loyalty to them and the company. But right now that they were working Jim too hard and it made them both unhappy.

The portly ring announcer eyed his foster son as he attended to the dishes. He saw that look on the young man's face every time he returned from work. It was a face filled with questions he was trying not to ask, but laced with frustration from not getting answers he so craved. The biggest mistake Jim could probably make was to expose Randy to exactly what was going on. This was not child's play. He himself had advised Vince to keep his wife, daughter and daughters-in-law away from this as much as possible. The same applied to Jim with Randy. He also knew Randy was frustrated that he kept coming home so late. He loved Randy, but right now the company needed him. Eric Bischoff's trial was underway. This was going to be his last work for McMahon, and what better way to round off than burying the archenemy six feet under? After that, he would gather up his earnings, settle down with Randy and live the rest of his life in peace.

As JR stood beside Randy to rinse the dishes, the teenager felt his resolve crumbling. "JR?"

"Yeah?"

"You know you can trust me, right?" Randy's eyes danced with hope. JR sighed and shook his head. "Of course I trust you, Randy. I trust you with my life. And I know you want to talk about what's been going on. I've told you before, I would have told you exactly what was going on from the beginning if I could, but this is beyond confidential, son. I don't want to put you in any danger."

Who was he kidding? The boy was not stupid, and Jim knew he was getting tidbits from here and there, all the hearsay, and obviously natural curiosity compelled him to go straight to the source. But he had explained his reasons. Randy was not going to get involved. It was too dangerous.

Randy was unable to hide his disappointment. "I told you before, I can't get hurt. I'm a big boy. I can handle anything you throw at me," he assured him.

"I know that, son," Jim answered patiently, "and this is about being big, but in a much different way. The outcome of this case is going to change so many lives, for the better and for the worse. Not everybody knows that I have a son, and I don't want the opposition using you as bait. So I really think it's best if you didn't know anything about it."

Randy could feel himself boil inside. He wanted to know. Hell, he had a _right_ to know. He was the one trying to pick up the pieces. He was the one enduring the brunt of JR's absence with all the extra work at the Inn. He missed him at work, and he missed him at home. His school friends had moved on after from high school, and Randy hardly had anyone to talk to. JR would come home every day looking exhausted, up at all hours making phone calls and doing God knows what else in the privacy of his bedroom, and Randy knew it was all because of this stupid court case. It was taking JR away from him, and he hated it. "Okay," he said, keeping his voice as smoothly calm as possible, "at least tell me how I can help." Even if it was just in the most minimal way, because he truly was getting fed up of being left in the dark.

"Son," said JR, "you are already helping, with the all the sacrifices you're making; working in here every single night without getting to go out and hang out with your friends. You have no idea how grateful I am that you're allowing me to give my all into this case. And once it's done, I will be back running this ship with you again. You take my word for it. In the meantime," he added, wiping the sweat off his brow, "we need to fix that old dishwasher. If we keep going at this pace we won't be done with all these dishes till next week!"

Randy didn't say anything further because he had sounded so sincere, and for a moment he felt a bit bad for being so inquisitive and nagging. He didn't want to pile any more stress on the old man, but he could tell that JR was in dangerous waters and wished he knew more so that he could find a way to protect his foster father better. After all, JR's was among those lives that were in jeopardy. He didn't like this at all, but he decided not to press any further.

_For his sake_, Randy thought grudgingly, _only for JR's sake._


	5. Far From Perfect

_**A/N: Wow, I've had a few positive reactions to the revival of this story. I'm glad you like it. I have a lot of twists and turns in mind for this story. Please continue to read and review. Here's chapter 5. Enjoy!**_

_**Far From Perfect **_

Lita cracked open the door ever so slightly, peeking in to check on her husband. "Jay?" she whispered, pushing the door open even wider. She quietly approached the king-sized bed, and she smiled as she took in his shirtless, peacefully sleeping figure. Thank God, he was finally getting some well-deserved rest. She was starting to get worried about his health. Ever since this long-awaited trial began, he was getting little or no sleep. Knowing him, sleep was a forgone alternative. This was revenge nearly two decades in the making.

She sat down on the bed and reached for him, gently running one hand through his soft blond hair. Without warning he stirred, and seconds later he opened his eyes and sat up, taking in his surroundings for a moment. "Shit," he muttered. He slowly turned to see his wife of six years sitting next to him. "Lita?" he said, taking her hand in his. "Sweetheart. Are you okay? Why aren't you resting?"

Lita shook her head, an affectionate smile on her face. "From the looks of things, you're the one that needs rest."

"But…the babies…" Jay said, his hand leaving Lita's and travelling down to her bump.

"They're fine, honey," she assured him softly. Love swelled in her as he pressed his ear against her stomach. As if feeling its father's presence, one of the babies kicked heartily. Jason looked up at Lita, and she could see his heart in his eyes. She held his gaze, mesmerized by the emotion on her husband's face. She remembered him looking at her the exact way he was now, the very first day they met…

"_Come on, let's go!" Dean Malenko, the Divas' trainer urged as he stood in the ring monitoring the practice match between the redhead and Gail Kim, another female employee. Amy was not at her best today as her thigh was feeling strained. As a result, she found it hard to keep up with the younger woman all through practice, and she lost their bout by pin fall._

"_Good work, Gail," said Dean, going over to help Amy up. "What's the matter with you? Are you okay?"_

_Amy shook her head. "It's my thigh, Dean. I think I botched it yesterday. I'll go take a look with the trainers."_

_Dean nodded distractedly. "You should. Same time tomorrow, all right?" Without waiting for a response, the man trotted off. Amy watched Dean go up to two men who were standing at the entrance. She recognized them as the McMahon brothers. They'd been showing up at the arena during practice for quite some time now. The one with dark hair began discussions with Dean while the blond was staring in the women's direction. Amy made eye contact with him for a split second, before looking away. What was he looking at?_

"_I could come with you to the doctor's if you want," Gail was saying, snapping her back to reality._ _Amy nodded gratefully. "Thanks, but don't worry about it." She sat down on a nearby bench, her back to the entrance, and started to massage her thigh._

"_There he goes again," Gail muttered in a sing-song voice. _

"_What?" Amy asked absent-mindedly._

_Sipping out of her water bottle, the Korean-Canadian sent stealthy glances towards the men. "Looks like you've caught the eye of the boss's son."_

_Amy's heart started to pound, but she laughed it off. "What are you talking about, Gail?"_

"_Are you blind or something? He's been watching you for weeks now," she replied. Slowly, cautiously, Amy turned around again. Gail was right. He was still staring at her. Had she not thought he was extremely gorgeous, she would have found it downright creepy. _

"_Something tells me he doesn't come around _just_ for general inspection," Gail added with a wink. Then turning back, she waved, much to Amy's shock and embarrassment._ _"Jesus, Gail!" she hissed, ducking her head. "Did you_ have_ to do that?"_

"_Hey, I'm just helping out a friend!"_

"_I don't remember asking for your help!"_

_Gail took one more sip of her water. "Well I hope you remember your manners, because he's making his way over here."_

_The redhead's eyes widened, and she became frantic. "What? Are you serious?"_

_Gail picked up her belongings. "Yup. Oh, by the way, lover boy's name's Jason. Have fun!"_

_Amy's jaw dropped as Gail disappeared. She stared after her, shocked at her speedy and unexpected departure. Her stomach flip-flopped when she realized that she was all alone. Before she knew it, she found herself staring into a pair of extraordinary blue eyes._

"_Hi," the blond man said with a smile that would've weakened the knees of any woman, and this didn't exclude Amy. But she was more mesmerized by his face, the way he looked so much like…him. Without a doubt, this was the twin._

"_Are you alright?"_

_His voice snapped Amy out of her trance, and she was only able to manage a nod. "Yeah, yeah," she stammered, hoping she didn't sound like a complete idiot. "I'm sorry." she waved her hand around in no particular direction. "I know you want to check out the place, so-"_

"_That's alright," he said. "You joined us not too long ago, right? I've seen you in action and I think you're fantastic."_

_Amy could feel her cheeks burning. "Thank you," she said in a small voice. She stared at his face. She knew where this was going, but she didn't want to go there. She couldn't. This was his twin, for God's sake!_

_Suddenly he gasped. "Oh, pardon me. I didn't even have the decency to introduce myself." He politely held out a hand. "I'm Jay. And by what name shall I address this beautiful woman standing in front of me?"_

_So he was handsome _and_ charming, she thought. What a combination. She supposed that nothing was wrong with a simple intro. She could put a stop to anything she was not comfortable with. Mind made up, she put her hand in his and shook it firmly._

"_Call me_ _Lita…"_

So much for putting a stop. Ten months later, he proposed to her at a candlelit dinner by the beach. Who would have ever believed that after years of busting her ass, she would have bagged not only a lucrative wrestling contract, but also the boss's son? And what made it even sweeter was that she had genuinely fallen in love with him. Not only was he incredibly handsome, he was a complete gentleman, and had been this way with her ever since they got together. But since she got pregnant, his love for her seemed to have escalated. He used to treat her like a queen, now he treated her like a goddess. She hadn't felt this happy in so long. She loved this man so much, and she used everything in her power to please him.

"You know today's the baby shower, right?" Lita asked Jason, who nodded. She then picked up one of his polo shirts and tossed it to him. "That means you should get up outta here. They'll be here in an hour. Speaking of which," she rose up from the bed, "I should go check on the cooking."

"How many times am I going to tell you, no strenuous work?" said Jason, getting off the bed and putting on the shirt. Lita rolled her eyes. "Jay honey, cooking is anything but strenuous. Besides, you know I still don't trust the chefs. I want this to be perfect."

Jason held her close. "Baby, anything you do is perfect."

She grinned. "You know I'm quite the perfectionist. Now, leave me be and go meet your men." Seeing his pout, she reached up and cupped his face. She loved the way he fawned over her, and right now he looked so adorable. She pulled his head towards hers and kissed him deeply, which he accepted with pleasure. "I'll be fine," she promised, pressing her forehead to his. "Get going."

He nodded, and pressed the back of her hand to his lips before he left. She waited for him to go before placing a hand on her belly with a heavy sigh. Her husband thought she was perfect. She was anything but. Time had changed her. She was no longer the scared, skinny little girl of seventeen years ago. She'd changed her name and was now almost unrecognizable with dyed-red hair and the build of an athlete. But nothing could change her other more terrifying secrets, secrets that no one knew about.

She wondered how she had let herself get involved with a McMahon with everything she was hiding from them. She'd had terrible nightmares about the McMahons discovering her connection to their dead brother. If Jason ever found out, he would see to it that she was punished just for keeping it from him for so long. It was not beyond the McMahons. She may not have been fully exposed to their dealings but she knew what they were capable of. So she kept everything about her past to herself, under lock and key within the confines of her soul, where it was safe.

The only person aware of her previous life was her mother, but she no longer had to worry about her anymore. She passed away two years ago. Her thoughts veered to her son, as they did every day, and tears swam violently in her eyes. She would never forget the day her mother sent that letter that crushed her entire world. Barely four months after she had dropped Randall off, the adoption center had been burned to the ground by WCW loyalists. Lita choked back a sob as seventeen years' worth of guilt reared its ugly head once again. Her poor, innocent Randall. He had been murdered, just like his father, and just like Adam, she had been helpless to save her son.

_But God gave me two in return,_ she thought as she caressed her stomach. Three more months and she would bring these children into the world peacefully, and they would complete her joy and take away all the pain of the past. She would watch them grow up with her husband and their father by her side. She wanted nothing more than that for herself and for Jay. But her husband had many enemies. With this war that seemingly refused to end, a war that had claimed the life of her first child, what was the guarantee that _these_ children were kept out of it this time?

Lita went to the mirror and touched up her make-up. She had to look perfect for her in-laws. With years of practice she had managed to groom herself into the gracious hostess she was expected to become as a McMahon wife. It was imperative that a wife-to-be fit right in with the Family. While she was dating Jay, she got to attend some of the parties hosted by his brothers' wives, and she lapped up the experiences. She strove to be as perfect as they all were, and she had succeeded. If she could have done that, then she could do anything else she set her mind to.

Satisfied with her appearance, Mrs. Jason McMahon swept out of the room to meet the in-laws.


	6. Celebrations and Revelations

**A/N: Finally, I have a brand new chapter down. Yay me! Enjoy, read and REVIEW!**

_**Celebrations and Revelations**_

Vince's wife, Linda led the ladies into her son's house, and the awe that overwhelmed Lita whenever the McMahon matriarch stepped into a room swelled inside her once more. This woman had become an integral part of her life, not only as her mother-in-law but as a mentor and role model. But like every McMahon, there was a flip side to her. Though she was known as the sweet society wife, her mean streak was legendary. When her daughter, Stephanie lost the Student Body President election, a position her daughter had so badly craved, rumor had it that it was Linda who posted photos of the Principal in very compromising positions with Stephanie's Student Body rival in every local newspaper. Stephanie stayed President throughout high school.

Linda approached Lita, looking as radiant and expensively regal as ever. "Lita, _darling_," she gushed, kissing the air beside her cheeks. "You look more beautiful every time I see you."

"Thank you, Donna," she replied with a big smile. "It's so nice to see you all."

A petite blonde woman named Patricia came forward first. Known to her friends as Trish, she was the pediatrician wife of Chris and mother to his children; Chris Jr. and a daughter named Audrey. She looked nothing like the typical doctor. She was so beautiful it scared Lita. She always looked like she'd just stepped out of a beauty magazine. "I don't think I need to ask how you are," Trish grinned, touching the redhead's bump lightly. "You look fantastic!"

"Too right. Pregnancy is treating you really, really well, Lita," said the tall, leggy blonde that joined her and Trish. One could see why Shane married former beauty queen-turned-fashion designer Stacy Keibler-McMahon. Both of them had a lot in common. Like Trish, she smashed the blonde beauty stereotype. She was driven, passionate about what she did, and fiercely devoted to friends and family. She had a son with Shane, Nichol.

The youngest girl, Maria was a shy, sweet little thing who often – and unwittingly – revealed the naivety that accompanied her young age. Her toughest test yet would be with John McMahon, her fiancé. Lita had meant it when she wished Maria good luck after John had announced their engagement. The boy was quite the firebrand, but Maria must have been doing something right to have netted him.

The screeching female voice that suddenly sounded only meant one thing: Melina McMahon had arrived. She was ordering her people around, trotting after them in her five-inch heels as she told them where to put the huge boxes she brought with her. "You'd better not break anything or I'll have you fired!" she growled at one of the hands, who looked so flustered Lita was sure he was about to faint.

"So sorry about that," she said more calmly, slipping off her Chanel shades as she approached Linda. "Donna." She curtsied and kissed her hand.

"Jay didn't telling me you were moving in," said Lita, giggling.

"Can't I spoil my sister in-law?" Melina kissed both her cheeks before taking a step back to inspect the redhead. "Wow, I hope I look this good when I'm pregnant."

Lita guffawed, as did the other wives. "I thought you said pregnancy would ruin your 'hot-ass body'," Trish reminded her good-naturedly, gesturing towards the smaller woman's impeccable, voluptuous frame. Melina flipped her hair. "Well, I'm not getting any younger am I? Dave's no longer taking 'not yet' for an answer, and I think I want to keep _his_ hot body around before he ups and leaves me for a younger woman. So I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

Dave's glamorous wife was a feisty, fiery woman, an elegant combination to his mellow personality. Once upon a time Lita used to think that Melina was nothing more than a self-centered, narcissistic gold-digger, but she turned out to be the opposite. She was a former runway model-turned housewife, yes, but she worked hard for her husband, and she was possibly the most sincere, honest woman Lita ever met.

And last but not least was Stephanie Levesque, the only daughter of Vincent and Linda. Lita and Stephanie became fast friends after the McMahon daughter started doing PR work for her father's company and travelling with the female wrestlers. Stephanie was a lovely, focused and independent woman, and Lita learned a lot from her.

Gail Kim-Benjamin, her longtime friend from back in the day, also showed up at the baby shower. "Hi, mom," she grinned, hugging a happy Lita. "Shelton sends his love."

"I'm so glad you made it. Hey sweetie," Lita cooed, stroking the curly dark hair of Gail's young son, Lee, who was perched against his mother's side.

A little party took place in the den. It was then that Lita opened her gifts. There was a car seat from Stacy, diapers, blankets, a well-stocked First Aid kit for babies from Trish and a three thousand dollar twin stroller from Linda. Melina trounced everyone by getting two of everything, including matching unisex overalls by Armani and miniature, customized Cadillac Escalades.

"Thank you so much, everyone. I really appreciate it." Lita beamed, overwhelmed by everyone's generosity.

Suddenly they all heard the sound of glass being tapped, and she turned to see Linda motioning for her to come. "I have been privileged to have witnessed the birth of many grandchildren, but my heart is not big enough to contain the love I feel for each and every one of them. Giving birth is the most precious thing a woman can ever do, and children are the biggest blessings a woman could ever be given. Never take them for granted. We welcome with joyous hearts the coming additions to this wonderful family." She smiled and held up her champagne glass. "To Lita."

All the women followed suit. "To Lita!"

"And Lita, dear," Linda continued. The redhead smiled brightly. "This may come from an old, willowy woman, but I wish you nothing but the best. As long as I live, I will do my best to be there for them, and for you. I hope that means something to you."

Lita knelt in front of Linda and kissed her hand, her eyes brimming with the love and respect she had for the woman. "Of course it does, Donna. It means the world to me that you gave me your blessing to marry your son. My children could never have a better grandmother."

"Oh dear, you're gonna make an old woman cry," Linda sniffed, wiping daintily at her eyes. "All right, enough of the chit-chat!" she announced suddenly, causing everyone to laugh. "Let's party!"

----------

The McMahon men gathered in Jason's bureau, keeping with the mild festivities that complemented the day. They were joined by Mark and Paul Levesque, Stephanie's husband.

"We start off with a toast," announced Vincent, moving into the middle of the circle of men. "To Jason, as he commences the next phase of his life; to the joys, the responsibility-"

"The diapers," Shane added, to a round of laughter.

"And the feeling of self-fulfillment collectively known as fatherhood," Vince continued, raising his glass. "To Papa Jay!"

"To Papa Jay!" they all chorused, lifting their glasses. John whooped and whistled, making Mark laugh.

"I'd like to make a toast of my own," Jason said seconds later, putting up a hand.

John guffawed. "Jeez, to _yourself_?" he asked. He winced when Dave smacked him over the head. "Shut up, dumbass! Go ahead, Jay."

Jay smiled weakly, and then clearing his throat, raised his glass. "I want to make a toast to someone, someone who is as much a part of this celebration as anyone else standing in this room; our brother, nephew and son; Adam McMahon."

The room got much, much quieter. John's eyes filled with tears. Mark stared at his cane as the sole McMahon twin made his speech.

"Everything's come so fast, man," said Jay with a smile, his blue eyes going glassy, "I remember when we were kids just like yesterday, and now I'm about to be a father. Trust me, I haven't even begun and it already feels weird."

Soft chuckles rippled around the room. "But it feels so much weirder without you," Jay continued, his voice starting to break. "I miss you man. I wish you were here with me. But since you can't, watch over my kids for me. I'm sure you have a way better view from up there." By the time he put his glass up higher there were tears in his eyes. "To Adam."

"To Adam," they all echoed, raising their glasses.

Chris briefed them on the latest developments with Eric Bischoff. He had decided to flee the country altogether. He stayed away for fifteen years, and grew the balls to return with a false name and a lousy hair dye job. The Feds caught him two weeks after his return. He was now awaiting trial, which was to commence in three weeks' time.

"If you don't mind, I have an announcement to make."

Vince looked around uncertainly at his sons. He was unsure as to how they would react to the news he was about to give them. He'd thought long and hard about it, even speaking to Marcus about it, who wholeheartedly supported his decision. He hoped his boys would. Even if they did not, he had pretty much made up his mind. They were all looking at him now, waiting expectantly. Vince turned to Mark, who nodded in encouragement. Clearing his throat, he spoke.

"I decided I'm going to testify against Bischoff."

It was like the oxygen in the room had evaporated. Paul looked like his eyeballs were about to pop out of his sockets. No one could believe what they were hearing.

"The FBI approached me right after they got Bischoff," Vince explained to his sons. "I thought it was something I had to do. I talked with your uncle here, and I talked to your mother and sister-"

"Wait, wait! You spoke to Stephanie?" Paul interrupted, his features displaying a piqued expression. "She got to hear about this before _me_? I…"

The Don gave his son-in-law a cold stare, freezing Paul into silence. The others looked shocked at Paul for having the nerve to interrupt the Don.

"Stephanie is my daughter, and Adam's sister," Vince calmly reminded him. "Pardon me if she takes priority over you."

"Pardon me, Don," Paul said. "But what you're doing is a big mistake. Did you cut a deal with the Feds? 'You scratch my back, I scratch yours'? Is that what they told you? That's not going to work, Godfather! You make one wrong move, and they'll give you up like that!" He snapped his fingers for emphasis. "Look," he said, a bit more calmly, "I completely understand why you say that this is the right thing, I do. But do you really think Adam would stand watch and let the Feds dangle this thread over your head, watch them waiting to snap it the minute any one of us messes up in the future? What if Bischoff walks? You ever think about that? Would Adam want his family looking over their shoulders for the rest of their lives? Because that's what's gonna happen, damn it!"

"Watch how you speak to my father, Levesque," John said in a voice so low and so threatening, that even Mark winced.

Paul had to force himself to calm down. He took a step back, returning his attention to the McMahon Patriarch. "I mean no disrespect, Godfather, but I'm just being realistic. The cons far outweigh the pros here. But it's your decision, and it looks like you've already made up your mind so I might as well be blowing hot air right now."

"You're right," Vince answered, ignoring Paul's flabbergasted face. "All I want is justice for my son, Paul. I'm going to get it."

Silence filled the room, his words being absorbed. Then, Shane spoke up first. "I'm on your side, dad."

Vince stared at him in surprise. He looked like he meant what he'd just said. He went over to his father and patted him on his shoulder. "You're doing the right thing. This is about Adam. Let's put that bastard in jail where he belongs."

"Shane's right, father," said Chris. "Your testimony will be very important to this case."

Dave came forward, patting his father on the back, as did John. It was Jason's turn. "I'm beyond caring about consequences now, father," said Jay, speaking for the first time since his father's revelation. "I want Bischoff to pay. Do what you have to do."

Vince stared around at all of them, immensely relieved. Mark gave him an I-told-you-so look. The approval of his sons was most important to him. He had set a goal and he was going to achieve it by hook or by crook. That was how he lived his whole life and he was not going to change now.


	7. Back to Business

_**A/N: Sorry I'm taking so long**__** to update. Here's chapter 7. Have fun, and let me know what you think!**_

_**Back to Business**_

The portly man gaped at the black American Express card that was held out in front of him. "What the hell is this, McMahon?"

Shane tucked the card back into his pocket. "Just asking a simple question, Paul. Is my credit good enough to buy you out?"

The man kept staring, absolutely astounded. "Buy me out?" he repeated dumbly.

Jim Ross nodded his head in confirmation. "The restaurant and the hotel, Mr. Heyman. The McMahon Family wants to buy you out."

Paul Heyman raised an eyebrow, his mouth still open with incredulity. "You gotta be kiddin' me, right?" he asked, "Is this is some of kind of joke? Look, _I_ buy you out. You don't buy me out."

Dave, sitting beside his older brother, shook his head. "Your restaurant is losing money. Maybe we can do better with it."

Heyman rolled around a bit in his swivel chair. They knew what he was trying to do. He was making them wait, trying to act like _he_ was the one in charge, the one calling the shots. Unfazed, Shane, Dave and JR waited patiently for him to finish his little game. When he faced them again, he was smirking. He then threw his head back and laughed. "You goddamn punks, you're hilarious you know that? I do you a favor when you're having a bad time, and now you're trying to cut me out!"

"Come on Paulie, how about you calm down so we can discuss this like men, huh?" said Shane.

Heyman tapped his fingers together. "Yeah, we'll discuss, Shane-O. First of all, you guys, you McMahons," he swept his finger at all three of them and added arrogantly, "You're done. Finished. _Kaput_. The McMahons don't even have that kind of muscle anymore. The Godfather's gettin' old, right? And this little vendetta you got with Bischoff is draining you, financially and emotionally. The other families; the Hogans, the Jarretts, the Flairs, they're all on your asses. So what the hell do you think you're doing? You think you can just come to my hotel and take over?"

"Bischoff is sixty percent owner of both the hotel and the restaurant," Shane told him, his tone reminding Paul to get his facts straight. "His stock is liquidating as we speak because of the charges brought against him and the trial. People don't want to do business with him anymore. How are you going to run the other forty percent _and _handle Bischoff's baggage by yourself?"

"And why the hell are you talking about doing us a favor like it was a life-altering experience?" asked Dave, "You only did it because the McMahon Family bankrolled the restaurant. But did Bischoff know that, Paul? Did he know that your funds were coming from someone else and you were pocketing his?"

The stunned silence said everything. Paul could see the lies he had told staring him in the face, and he cleared his throat. "Well…"

"We're not trying to run you out of business, Heyman," said Shane. "You're doing that all by your lonesome. You're running those properties into the ground. You've wasted our money on whatever it is you've been doing with it. But we're willing to overlook it and take the hotel and the restaurant off your hands."

"It's not that bad a situation!" argued Heyman, though he sounded unconvincing. "And I'm not going to put it up for sale just because you say so. Besides, I've talked to Hogan already – I can make a deal with him and still keep the hotel!"

"Really? Is that why you verbally insulted my sister in public?" asked Shane. Though his voice was calm, the cordiality had vanished and replaced by a hard, brazened expression. "Yeah, I know about the incident at the Charity Ball, Paul." he added when the other man's eyes widened. "My brother-in-law is not one to be quiet about a serious matter like that. He still wants your head."

"Come on," reasoned Heyman, suddenly feeling very suffocated at the thought of _both_ the McMahons and Paul Levesque coming down on him simultaneously. "You know I didn't mean nothin' by that. Yeah, I tend to fly off the handle every once in a while, but it was harmless."

Dave gazed at him. "Harmless?"

"Hey, she was making fun of my wife! I had to straighten her out. If her husband couldn't do it-"

"You straightened my sister out?" Dave said incredulously, the back of his neck turning a crimson color. JR quickly placed a calming hand on the larger man's shoulder.

Shane had lost interest in any of Heyman's excuses. "We return to Connecticut tomorrow evening. Think about a price." He rose from his seat.

Enraged, Heyman shot to his feet. "What the fuck? Do you know who I am? I'm Paul Heyman! I made my bones when you two were banging cheerleaders in high school!"

"And look how far we've come," Shane replied. He unrolled a bunch of clippings taken from _Wall Street Journal_ and set them on the table in front of Heyman. "This list contains a number of establishments and businesses that once belonged to Eric Bischoff. As it states in the headlines, they've all been bought out. Take a good look at the last name of the new owners and the capital spent on each buyout. When you've gone through it, played it over and over in your head, make sure to give me a call." Adjusting his jacket, he smiled genially at a dumbfounded Heyman. "Have a good day."

Heyman began to panic. Helpless as to what else to do, he turned to Jim. "JR, you're Don McMahon's Consigliore, right? You can talk to the Don. We can make a deal…"

Jim swiftly held up his hand. "Hold it right there. The Don is _semi_-retired. Shane is in charge of the Family business now. If you have anything to say, say it to Shane."

Paul simply stared, defeat shining in his beady eyes. "I…"

Jim smiled cordially. They had him right where they wanted him. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Heyman." The three men left.

"How long do you think before he calls?" Dave asked, walking beside Shane.

"I'd say the end of the week," said Jim. Shane shook his head. "I say Wednesday."

"But that's tomorrow," said Dave.

"Exactly."

---------

Jason was staying over at his childhood home at the McMahon Estate this weekend, helping his father out with some work. It was early morning, and he was in the bedroom he used to sleep in when he was a kid (one of his most favorite places in the world) surfing through the Internet on his laptop when Chris entered the room. Jason rolled his eyes. "How stupid of me," he said sarcastically, "to have thought that you'd knock now that you're an adult!"

"I've been calling you all damn morning," said Chris, throwing the newspaper he'd been holding onto Jason's lap. He pointed at the main picture on the front page. "Guess who Bischoff got as his attorney?"

He began pacing in front of Jay's bed. The younger blond man held up the paper, reading the name slowly. "Michael Mizanin." He looked up again, puzzled. "Am I supposed to know him?"

"You know that kid I mentioned to you some time ago?" said Chris, "the kid fresh out of Law School that's won all seven of his court cases? One of them became a landmark Supreme Court case?"

"Yeah?"

Chris stopped pacing and pointed again. "That's him."

Jay's eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh. _Oh_."

Chris slumped to the bed beside Jason, running his hands through his hair. Jay immediately knew what was going through his younger brother's mind. "Come on," he said incredulously. "You can mop the courtroom floor with this guy. You're one of the best, man."

"Yeah, but we got a bigger problem. Layfield chickened out."

Jason's eyes widened. "What? Judge Layfield's not taking the case?"

"Came up with some bullshit excuse that he won't be in town for the next couple of months."

"Since when?"

"Since last Friday."

Jason frowned as he put two and two together. "In other words, Bischoff somehow got to him." He rubbed his face wearily. "Shit. That's not good."

"I've seen this kid, Jay," said Chris. "He's dug his defendants out of more damning stuff than this. And if I know how Mizanin's mind works, he'll know we had a Judge lined up. He's gonna file a motion seeking for another Judge, one who won't be so kind. Without Layfield, we're as good as fucked."

"No we're not," Jason disagreed. "We got you. And we can find another Judge."

A bashful grin flashed across Chris's face. Jason continued. "And we got the jury. They're in tact, right?"

"Last time I checked, yes. Shane took care of that."

By "taking care" of it, Shane had wired healthy sums of "welfare funds" to the bank accounts of every member of the jury. Each of them knew who the money was from, but proving it would be a tough task. Shane made sure of that, just in case things decided to go sour. "That's all we need, Chris. As for Layfield, we'll deal with him later." Jason leaned backwards, slipping into his own thoughts. "This is about Adam, Chris. We will do everything we need to do to fuck up Bischoff. No way he's gonna get away with this, not on my watch." He looked up again. "So now we're done with the chit-chat, get out! Scram! I got work to do."

Chris planted his hands on his hips defiantly. "You ordering me around, bitch?"

"It's my room!" Jay protested.

The older blond raised an eyebrow with amusement. "What are you, ten?"

"Out, Christopher!"

"You are so lucky I'm doing this _pro bono_," Chris grumbled as he left, while Jason laughed.

_**A/N: The dialogue between the McMahons and Heyman is almost straight off one of the scenes from the first Godfather movie – but of course a few things were tweaked and prodded in my story's favor. Plagiarism sucks! Please review! Thanks!**_


	8. Much Needed Company

**_A/N: I just want to say a HUGE thank you to everybody who has read or reviewed this story. It means the world to me, especially for someone who did not really expect much feedback_** _**for any of my stories. It is hugely appreciated. **__**Please keep reading and reviewing**__**! Enjoy Chapter 8!**_

_**

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****Much Needed Company**_

"He's gonna testify!" the man called Booker said incredulously, staring at the newspaper in his hand. "The old man himself is gonna testify! Oh, this is gonna be good." He tipped the bottle of beer into his mouth, chuckling with disbelief.

"Yeah, the boys at work were talkin' about it today," the man beside him, Rob Van Dam, said. "How do you think it's gonna pan out?"

Booker shook his head. "I gotta tell ya, it ain't lookin' good for Bischoff, dawg. No disrespect, I've worked for him and everything, but he don't stand a chance against Vince McMahon."

Rob sipped his beer. "You really think he killed the McMahon boy though?" he asked Booker, who gaped at him in response. "_Think_? Of course he did. There's only one fool on this planet dumb enough to go after the McMahons in the manner he did, and his name is Eric Bischoff."

Serving another customer nearby, Randy eavesdropped on their conversation, wondering what the dreadlocked man was talking about now.

"Bischoff's always been jealous that McMahon got the top spot, you know?" Booker continued, unaware of his new audience. "Obviously 'cause his wrestling thing's real big and shit. Bischoff was doin' okay too, but not at McMahon's level. I mean, _everybody_ knows the WWE. But get this. From what I used to hear backstage when I was still workin', McMahon turned down Bischoff's offer to buy a stake in his company. He thinks Bischoff should concentrate on his own organization. That's another way of saying, 'don't be comin' up in here tryin' to fuck up all my hard work'. Because you Bischoff ain't gonna settle for just some shitty-ass dividend warrants. But Bischoff, instead of heeding his advice, makes a ton of money from God knows where, and comes back with a proposal for a business partnership. But it turns out the proposal was just a cover-up. He wants to supply drugs to Vince's talent at the WWE. McMahon gets pissed and ass-rapes the idea. Until the drug trafficking bit, he don't take Bischoff seriously at all. And that's when Bischoff snaps. That's the real reason all this shit started, man."

"I still don't know what the hell Bischoff was thinking. McMahon's one of the most powerful men in the whole damn country."

"Don't forget he's got Marcus Callaway by his side. And there's been rumors flyin' around that it was Bischoff who ordered the hit on _his_ son."

Rob whistled. "That's true. Oh shit. Man, Uncle E's made one hell of a grave for himself."

Booker nodded in agreement. "It's an unspoken rule, man. You can say whatever, do whatever you want to a man, but you do _not_ mess with a man's kids, _especially_ not the McMahon kids."

"I know," Rob said with a sigh. "I better go buy me some popcorn, 'cause this is gonna be one hell of a show."

Booker sighed. "Things are gonna get real bad around here. Thank God I'm retired, 'cause I'm thinking of taking the wife and the kids and getting the hell up outta here. The whole thing's affecting everybody, man. Wrestlers ain't workin' no more, staff quittin' and shit. Folks is running scared. Ain't no tellin' if it's your next door neighbor they gon' shoot up next. And it sure as hell ain't worth putting my family in the line of fire."

Randy slipped into the storage room, the conversation between the two men ringing over and over in his mind. Booker was one of the more prominent patrons at the Inn, and always seemed to be abreast of things that were happening in the community, sometimes even having more information than the local papers did. But what he had to say tonight was very, very interesting. By the time evening came and he was wiping up the counter, he was still thinking about it.

"I'm done for the night, Randy," a tall blonde girl said as she emerged from the pantry, stuffing a white apron into her back pocket. "Anything else you need me to do before I go?"

Randy didn't look up from his cleaning the counter. She tilted her head with concern, going up to him. He was hunched over the Formica table, slowly rotating the white rag over the same spot again and again. "Randy?"

Hearing her voice from close range seemed to do the trick, as he finally snapped out of his trance. "Oh. Sorry, Michelle. Were you saying something?"

"Yeah, I was just asking if you needed anything else done." She peered at him. "Are you okay? You seem pretty spaced out."

The teenager stopped what he was doing, and shrugged apologetically. "Yeah," he lowered his head, smiling sheepishly, "sorry about that. I just have a lot on my mind."

"I'm surprised you can still think," she retorted. "I could barely hear my own thoughts with all that yammering from Booker earlier."

Randy cracked a half-smile, eyeing the pretty girl in front of him. Michelle McCool was the new waitress at JR's Inn, and also one of the coolest girls that Randy had ever met – no pun intended. Though she resembled the stereotypical all-American blonde blue-eyed bombshell, she was smart, sassy and highly efficient, as she had displayed in impressive fashion in the three days she had been here so far. She handled orders in record time, was polite to customers and held her own verbally with the mouthy patrons. She was of great assistance to Randy, but he was just glad to have someone within his age bracket around. It also kinda helped that she had a nice personality and, he thought, blushing slightly, she was not bad to look at. With all those traits rolled into one, Randy was certain that JR would approve.

"So, when are we finally gonna meet the great JR?" she asked on cue, as if she had just scanned his head and found Jim's name running through it. She quickly added with a shy smile, "Sorry. I'm a fan of his."

Randy lifted an eyebrow, mildly surprised. "You don't strike me as the wrestling fan type."

"Oh, not _you_ too," she groaned playfully, rolling her eyes. "Lesson number one, little man," she said, addressing him by a name she imposed upon him on her first day at work when she discovered he was younger than her. He politely protested. She politely ignored him. "Don't let the blonde hair fool you. I may be a girl, but I'm also one of the biggest tomboys you'll ever meet. I'm a sports addict. I grew up playing everything and loving everything I played. I guess that's what happens when you're raised by a single father, huh?"

For some reason he found this quite refreshing. Not many girls he knew liked sports, let alone wrestling.

"So what's it like?" she asked him, leaning against the counter directly across from him. "Having a legendary sports commentator as your dad? I bet you get to see the shows for free. How cool must that be?"

She gazed at him, her blue eyes luminous with interest as she awaited his answer. "Yeah. It _was_ cool," Randy said half-heartedly, concluding with a sigh.

"_Was_? What do you mean?"

"He used to take me to the shows until I was about twelve. But he's been real busy lately, so I'm relegated to watching it on TV."

Michelle made a sad face. "Bummer. Well, I better go." She pushed herself off the counter, throwing on her jacket and heading for the front door.

"Hey, it's kinda late," said Randy. "Are you sure you should be walking home on your own?"

"I think I can handle myself." She grinned, flexing her fingers. "Like I said, little man, lesson number one."

Randy rolled his eyes, but returned her grin nonetheless. "Thanks for helping me out, Michelle," he said.

"No problem. It's what I'm being paid for, right? Or I _hope_ I am."

They both laughed, and she opened the front door, he watched her slender, retreating form. A thought unexpectedly crossed his mind to ask her to come and watch him at the sports center this weekend, but he quickly waved it off. They only just met, and he didn't want it to look like he was asking her on some sort of date. He wasn't quite ready for the humiliation of rejection just yet.

"You're doing great with this place, Randy."

Her saccharine voice returned his gaze back to her smiling face. He managed a slow nod, unable to repress the butterflies that were currently floating in his stomach. "Thanks."

"Goodnight, Randy." She waved at him as she exited.

"Goodnight." Randy went to lock the door after her, and he remained there for a long moment. Then taking a deep breath, he turned around to inspect his surroundings. Satisfied that the place was clean and in good shape for the next day, he tossed the rag aside and retreated upstairs for the night.

When Randy wasn't too tired after work he watched TV in JR's bedroom upstairs. Monday night used to be wrestling night in the Ross household. Randy never stopped watching though. He always made sure to catch the live show, Monday Night Raw at 8p.m. and the Smackdown rerun was on at the same time on Friday nights. He loved wrestling. He remembered being awestruck every time he was in the arenas to witness the bright lights, the drama and the physicality. He tuned in to WWE more often than the rival show WCW because of JR, who, as Michelle herself could attest to, was great with his commentary. When he became old enough to think for himself, Randy made up his mind that he was going to be a part of it someday. Every week left him inspired and more determined to be involved, because it truly looked like a lot of fun. And he was quite certain that with the right amount of training, he could cut it as a wrestler.

In his free time he worked out at a local sports and recreation center. He enjoyed every moment of it. It relieved him of the everyday stress of his work at the Inn and he always looked forward to the next time he returned. Each time he did, his respect for the sport grew. Randy wanted nothing more than to follow his dream and become a big wrestling star, but he couldn't do it without emotional and financial support. That was where JR came in. He could give him both of those things in spades. But the real-life drama taking place off-camera and Jim's constant reluctance to let him anywhere near it were not playing in Randy's favor. And from what Booker was saying today, things were only getting worse.

So what was going to happen when Jim found out that Randy _was_ wrestling?


	9. Holding It Together

_**Holding It Together**_

Lita chose to stay over at the Levesque mansion for the weekend. She was getting increasingly bored, cranky and frustrated with her seemingly prolonging pregnancy, and also annoyed that Jay was not allowing her to do anything around the house. She had to threaten grievous bodily harm on her husband when he tried to talk her out of leaving the house. She just needed this little break from everything that was going on to avoid the looming tension between herself and her husband. Lita felt much better in the company of her friend and sister-in-law, and luckily the McMahon daughter was feeling the exact same way as she was. Paul was hardly ever around the house these days; he was too busy running left and right on her father's behalf.

The ladies ended up entertaining themselves with Stephanie's twin children, Hunter and Stephen, and after mom put the kids in for their afternoon nap, they spent the rest of the evening catching up on the latest gossip, eating lots of ice cream and watching movies. Now the room was quiet as Lita braided Stephanie's hair at her request. Hair making was one of Lita's favorite things to do when she was younger.

The redheaded mother-to-be watched her sister-in-law through the mirror as she sat cross-legged on the floor underneath her. She was staring into space, her soft blue eyes dark and pensive.

"So Steph…You nervous?" Lita asked, breaking the silence with an impending question that she'd been meaning to ask for a while. Stephanie turned her head slightly. "About what?" she asked. Her features wore a curious expression as she sought Lita's gaze through the mirror.

"You know, about the Don testifying?" Lita clarified. She was almost always certain she was going to receive a candid answer from the McMahon daughter. The two women were particularly closer to each other than with the other wives, and confided in each other a lot, but Lita served more as a listening ear than a talker, a role she was very comfortable with.

Stephanie sighed tiredly. "To be honest, Li, I'm feeling two different ways. A part of me is confident, and the other part is just fucking scared to death. Maybe it's because I've watched the Marlon Brando _Godfather_ a few too many times, but you know what always happens to people who testify in situations like this, right?"

Lita thought about it for a moment, and then broke into an amused grin. "Okay, maybe we _have _been watching too many movies."

"Are you sure about that, Lita? You know our family's history. My brothers may not think I do, but I know much more than they like to let on. My father built one of the biggest crime syndicates in this country. Without a doubt he stepped on a few toes to get to where he is today. That's put a huge bullseye on his back. Everybody's gunning for him, from the Families in New York, Chicago, hell, he even has a problem with the Sicilians in Italy. Everyone's going to be watching this trial.

"Eric Bischoff is a relative new kid on the block. He thought messing with the Don was going to bring him the recognition and the power he so craved. He's done what he set out to do by destabilizing us, but he wants more. He wants to destroy us all. That's what a little power and too much greed does to people."

Stephanie held up a number of what looked like brochures for tourist attractions. "I'm seriously thinking about leaving town when this is over. I'll be kidding myself if I said my boys will be safe here in Connecticut."

Her head tilted to the side, Lita paused for a second or two before replying. "I never really thought about that. My babies will be born soon. But I know Jason will never leave."

"Of course not," agreed Stephanie. "Neither will Paul. It's just wishful thinking on my part. The McMahons belong here in Connecticut. Our lives are here, and they'll always be here." She sighed heavily, as though the weight of the world rested on her broad shoulders. "I just want all of this to be over, Lita," she said sadly, "this thing with Eric Bischoff has torn this family apart and caused us so much pain, so much heartache. I mean, he _took _Adam from us…"

Lita suddenly dropped the comb she was holding. Absently Stephanie picked it up and gave it back to her, not noticing the now trembling hand that received it. "I don't care what anybody says," she continued, oblivious to Lita's sudden change in demeanor. "I know he murdered my brother. And I know he's going to pay for what he's done." She broke off, pausing to flick away a tear from underneath her eye. "Oh Lita, I wish you had a chance to meet Adam. You would have loved him."

The instant she heard his name again, tears began pooling in her eyes, and she bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood. If Stephanie only knew that she _did_ have the pleasure of meeting her brother more than seventeen years ago, that she'd had the pleasure of feeling his gentle touch, his tender kiss; that she _had_ fallen in love with him…

And she had the same devastating pleasure of being the only witness to his brutal murder. She could still remember, as clear as day, the two huge men manhandling her lover, the bullets ringing in her ears as they cracked into his body; his usually vibrant green eyes rolling into the back of his head as he died…

Suddenly she felt faint, the memories threatening to close in on her from all sides. Without warning, Lita shot up off the bed and made a beeline for the bathroom. A startled Stephanie stared after her with concern that bordered on alarm. "Lita, are you okay?" she asked, immediately thinking about the unborn babies, but her question went unanswered as the door slammed shut.

"Lita!" Stephanie rapped softly on the door, sounding extremely worried now. "Honey, are you all right?"

Her back pressed against the door, the pregnant redhead cleared her throat in an attempt to force down the lump that formed in it. She barely trusted herself to speak, as she was very certain she would burst into tears before a word came out of her mouth. See why she preferred being the listener? "Yeah, I'm fine." She croaked. "I just…needed to pee."

"Oh…okay. Well, you should have just said so instead of scaring me like that." Her voice faded a little as she returned to her bed.

Lita bent over the sink, splashing water on her face a couple of times. Her hands gripped the cold white ceramic of the basin, breathing heavily as tears spilled silently down her cheeks. She wondered what she the hell she had been thinking, getting involved with the one set of people who would, though inadvertently, continue to thrust a piece of her past back into her face. But the answer to her question was simple: Love. She had fallen in love with Jason McMahon, a love made sweeter by the fact that she was with him for who he was and not for his name. She would do anything for him and she would do anything for his family. She had learned to love each and every one of them. A very long time had passed since she had a real family of her own, and the McMahon's were the closest thing she had ever had to one. By accepting her into their fold, they had shown that they trusted her and respected her for who she was, regardless of her background.

Which was why couldn't say _anything_ to anybody. She just couldn't. She couldn't remind herself enough just how much this would crush everything she had been trying to build for herself, or, as selfish as it sounded, ruin her position within the McMahon family. Being thrust into the unwanted, unforgiving glare of the spotlight would be too much for her. She was already having a very hard time watching this whole sordid drama from the sidelines. Besides, her confession would be seventeen years too late, and Stephanie would never ever forgive her for holding such vital information from them for so long. And as for Jay's reaction; well, she didn't want to think about it. She simply could not bear to think about it. She didn't think she could take losing yet another man she loved. She had lost two already, and she was uncertain she would ever fully be able to get over them.

She prayed daily that this trial would be over as soon as possible, with Bischoff locked away in prison so that the McMahon family would move on with their lives. And so that she, like she'd done for the past seventeen years, would keep a firm hold on her secret. She had to hold it together for her babies. The stress she would pile on herself would not be good for them. She missed Adam, and she missed her son Randall, so much that it ached. It ached every single day. But nobody had to know that.

And as long as she had anything to do with this family, she would see to it that nobody did.


	10. All You Need To Do Is…

**_A/N: Thank you to everyone for the nice reviews! A lot of crap has been going on at home lately (no, nothing serious, I'm just pissed off at everyone at the mo) and writing has been the only thing I've been enjoying immensely. However, for some reason my confidence has been knocked a little bit, so forgive me if this chapter is not up to par. Please continue encouraging me, and I'll do my best to reciprocate. Thank you! In chapter 10, Randy is further convinced to follow his dream._**

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**_All You Need To Do Is…_**

"Wrap 'em up, Orton! Take 'em down!"

Following his Coach's instructions, Randy ducked to the ground and wrapped his arms and legs around the other man in a sleeper hold. The Coach, a local champion named Kurt Angle, sat in the corner of the ring, clapping his hands as he barked out orders. "Styles! Make the counter!"

Randy's opponent, an older trainee named AJ, hit Randy repeatedly in the arm, forcing him to break the hold. He then got on his knees and grabbed Randy's ankles, twisting both their legs together in a figure-four leg lock. "Uh-uh, wrong way," shouted Angle, "Put your _right _leg over the _left_, or you'll fuck up Orton's knees. Right over left! Right over left! Get it through your head!"

AJ started to do as he was told, but Randy seized advantage and turned his body over, putting the pressure on AJ's legs, grunting as the other man tried to drag himself out of the hold.

Michelle watched from the bleachers, clapping enthusiastically whenever Randy got the upper hand. He had talked about this place so much that she had to come and see for herself the magic that had her workmate so captivated. But she ended up being captivated by him. This boy was poetry in motion. The precision with which he moved was flawless and clean-cut, and the admiration could be seen clearly in the eyes of the Coach.

"Oh! Beautiful! Beautiful!" Angle crowed as Randy nailed a standing drop kick. Randy then lifted AJ off the ground, about to execute a scoop slam. "Bend the knees! Bend the knees!" Angle instructed, crouching a bit to watch if the move was being done properly. The "match" soon ended, with AJ getting the three-count. "Excellent!" The Coach applauded them. "That's it for today! Hit the showers. I'll see you on Monday. _Don't _be late!"

Randy slowly got to his feet and headed gingerly towards the locker room. He'd been doing this for weeks now but he still was not used to the way his body ached, or the bruises that formed all over his body. His abs hurt and his thighs were burning from having to hold his legs in a bent position to absorb all the falls.

"Yo, Orton, nice work today," AJ remarked as he passed by Randy, patting his shoulder.

"Thanks, you too." He was getting used to his middle name being used as his surname. He had ditched the 'Ross' name to preserve his anonymity. Besides, if he made it, he wanted to do so on his own terms. So far, it seemed he was getting there.

Done showering and changing, he picked up his bag and started to leave the locker room when he heard the booming voice of his mentor.

"Orton! I got something for you!" Coach Angle was coming towards him with a yellow leaflet in his hand, which he then gave to Randy to read. His tired blue eyes soon widened in disbelief, then met Angle's twinkling gaze, hoping that he was indeed seeing right.

Angle smiled. "It's an acceptance letter from the Academy of Wrestling Arts in New York City. I sent them a tape of you and they loved it. They're ready to take you whenever you are. All you need to do is get your guardian or parent to sign that bit," He turned the page and pointed at the bottom of it, "and you'll be heading straight to the developmental circuit!"

The young man was at a loss for words. "Wow…Coach, I…wow. I can't believe it."

"What's not to believe? I've been watching you for weeks now, and I gotta tell you kid, you're special and you belong in the AWA." He gripped his shoulder, looking him dead in the eye. "This is the biggest opportunity you could ever have, kid. Don't pass it up."

With that he patted Randy's shoulder and left. Randy stood there for what felt like an eternity, certain that he was dreaming. He only remembered he had functioning legs when he heard Michelle calling his name.

She bounded towards him, a big smile on her angelic face. "Ready to go?" She trailed off when she saw that she did not have his attention. Brows furrowed with concern, she waved her hand in front of his face. "What's up?"

Slowly, as if in a trance, he gave the form to her. She read it over, and then gasped loudly, her hand covering her mouth as she looked at him. "Oh my God! For real?"

When Randy nodded she squealed, launching herself at him and wrapping her arms around his neck in a big hug. "Oh my God! This is amazing!" she gushed.

Normally he would have been ecstatic that she was hugging him the way she was, but his body was hurting everywhere. "Oww…" he moaned weakly.

"Whoops! Sorry!" She quickly let go of him, laughing. "Wow! New York! Good thing we brought lunch with us," she told him, bouncing on her toes. "We're gonna celebrate!"

Randy and Michelle had packed some lunch for a picnic after his practice. They planned on going to the park a short distance away from the sports center. When they got there they set up the picnic things and settled down. "Are you sure JR won't get mad?" Michelle asked uncertainly as Randy pulled out the chilled bottles of root beer they had swiped from the Inn's storeroom. "I'll tell him you told me to do it! This was all your idea after all."

"_Humph_! Some friend," Randy snorted, pretending to be annoyed for a moment. "You know, I kinda had it figured that you'd have better things to do on a Saturday afternoon than hang out with me," he said good-naturedly. "Shouldn't you be with your boyfriend or something?"

She let out a short spurt of laughter. "Maybe I would," she replied, grinning, "If I _had_ one."

Randy was surprised. "What? No boyfriend?"

Michelle shook her head. "Nope. I haven't had much of a love life in quite some time, come to think of it. My last boyfriend…let's just say that getting involved with _him_ was a very bad idea."

"What happened?"

"No further comment." Her tone was final. "Your turn."

"I've never had a girlfriend," Randy began, but seeing the amused smirk on her face he quickly backtracked. "I mean a _serious_ girlfriend. I've dated, lots of times. But the whole 'relationship' thing never works out for me, you know?"

"Funny, I'm sure a lot of the girls at your high school would have killed to be with you."

He shrugged. "Maybe I was waiting for someone more mature." He never took his eyes off her.

Michelle went for the basket and took out the homemade cheesecake. "You sure you want cheesecake right after training?" she asked, but he merely rolled his eyes, thrusting his paper plate out at her. Michelle laughed and put a slice on his plate. "So," she began, "New York. How about that?"

"I know, right? It's so surreal. I've worked so hard for this kind of an opportunity for so long, and now, seeing it right in front of me…it just feels so weird, you know?" he sighed heavily. "I just wish my real parents were around to see it."

Michelle sat a little straighter. He'd never talked about them before. "Is it okay if I asked what happened to your parents?"

"Apparently my mom died giving birth to me," Randy explained. "That's what they told JR at the orphanage when he adopted me. I don't know anything about my father." He fingered the little gold cross hanging on his neck. "She gave me this right before she died."

"I noticed it," said Michelle, peering admiringly at the jewelry. "It's really pretty."

"Thanks." He tucked it back into his shirt and continued eating.

"I'm sure they'll be proud that their son is a very hardworking, strong-willed young man who's giving himself a chance to do what he wants to do," Michelle offered, with a touch of sincerity in her voice. "Not everyone has that opportunity, you know? _I_ hope I'm lucky enough when it's my turn."

Randy studied her intently, smiling. "And what do_ you_ wanna be?"

"A teacher," she answered after a hesitant pause, "maybe at kindergarten or something. People say I'm good with kids. And I've always liked math."

Randy laughed. "Well, that explains why you're such an ace at the counter. Go for it."

A playful grin crossed the blonde girl's pretty features. "I will. And who knows, maybe on my Spring break I'll show up at one of your wrestling gigs."

His heart fluttered at the thought. "That would be cool."

Michelle paused, watching him, as if taking time to choose her next words carefully. "So," she started, nodding her head in the direction of Randy's back pocket, where the yellow letter nestled snugly, "are you gonna tell JR about New York?"

His good mood abruptly dissipating, his blue eyes fell upon his empty plate. Over the weeks, the two of them had become so close that Randy had grown comfortable enough to fully explain the difficulties he was experiencing at home with his dad Jim. Michelle never judged him, never questioned him, and only gave advice where she felt it was warranted. Like now. "You have to, Randy," she said. "You need him. Without his consent you can't go."

Randy sighed. She was right. "Man, it sucks being seventeen."

"Don't try to grow up too fast, little man," Michelle chuckled. "The world is a scary place."

"I think I can handle it. And what do _you_ know, Miss I-Know-What's-Up?" he retorted with a smirk. "You're not even twenty yet."

"I'm nineteen. That's almost twenty."

"_Almost_," Randy reiterated smugly, "'almost' don't buy the groceries!"

"Shut up!"

The two of them burst out laughing. "I don't know, 'Chelle," Randy said when they had calmed down, "I see JR throwing this back in my face. He's so determined to make sure I have no part in the wrestling business."

"Maybe not the wrestling," she reasoned, "but the _business_. It's the politicking he's worried about. And I don't blame him. Once they find out you're JR's kid, BOOM! Scheme, scheme, plot, plot. There's a lot of things happening out there that don't wanna know about, trust me."

He sighed. "I just wanna help."

"And maybe to Jim you are, just by being around anytime he gets back," said Michelle. "You're the one constant in his life, and that's mitigating all the difficulties he faces at work. And from what we've been seeing lately, working for Vince McMahon must be a real drag. Your loyalty to him spurs him on. Maybe that's what he's scared of losing; that you might change when you go out there."

"I won't change," Randy practically growled. Michelle smiled, placing a slender arm around his broad shoulders. "I don't doubt that, Randy. But _he_ has to know. Sit him down and show him your point of view. Let him know you're serious about wrestling and let him know you'll still be there for him. He's your father, but this is your_ dream_. Like I said, very few people get the chance to do what they love. Once you show him that, once he _sees_ that, he'll have no choice but to put that pen to paper."

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**_A/N: What do you think will happen? Will Michelle's words come to pass, or does Randy have every right to be pessimistic? Only way to find out is to READ AND REVIEW! Thanks so much for the support!_**


	11. The Party Crasher

_**A/N: At last! I've updated this story. Hope you enjoy it! Let me know if you do! Peace!**_

_**The Party Crasher**_

Adam Joseph McMahon would have been thirty-seven years old today.

To celebrate his son's life, Vincent organized a large party, which he threw after the family had paid a private visit to Adam's grave site. It was held in agreement among the immediate family that it was going to be a proper celebration, turning the pages of this tragic chapter in the McMahons' story. No more mourning. They had spent the last seventeen years doing so. Besides, it was Jay's birthday too. As the surviving twin it _was_ his day of merriment, so there was indeed a lot to celebrate.

It was common knowledge around the community that no one threw parties as prolifically as the McMahon family. They rarely spared any expenses; the catering, the entertainment and the guest list were always second to none. No matter the occasion, as long as it was done by the McMahons, people were there, attracting an impressive number of celebrities, politicians and a bit of media attention. Anyone considered remotely powerful or influential could be found wandering around inside the Great Hall of the famed palatial estate.

One of the most recognizable personalities at the party was R&B singer Dwayne Johnson, a man whose star burned brightly in America and also fast rising across the Atlantic. But as the godson of Vince McMahon, he always made time for the Family, no matter how cramped his schedule was.

"Oh my God!" a star-struck Lita turned excitedly to Jason right after he had introduced her to the singer. "You never told me you knew Dwayne Johnson!"

"Yeah, the Family's known him for quite some time now," Jay admitted, and Lita's jaw dropped. "_Quite some time_? Baby, that's more than enough time to tell me! You know how much I like him!"

"More than you do me?" he teased.

"Of course not baby," she replied, kissing his cheek. "So how do you know Dwayne?"

He shifted his gaze away from her, his cerulean eyes surveying the guests. "My father's been helping him with his career."

Lita's hazel eyes lit up with interest. "I didn't know the Don was into music. How?"

"Did I tell you that Dwayne has a new song out?" Jay deflected the question smoothly. "Listen, I think he's gonna play it now."

Uh-oh, Lita thought warily, there was something he wasn't telling her. She watched as Dwayne serenaded the guests, some women pressing their hand to their chests to quell their racing hearts. Exactly fifteen seconds of the song played when Lita turned back to her husband. "Tell me, Jason. Please." She couldn't help it. The curiosity was chipping away at her.

Jay shrugged. "Well, when Dwayne first started out, he was lead singer with this big band in downtown Miami and had signed to a personal services contract with the bandleader. As his solo career grew, Dwayne wanted to get out of the agreement but the bandleader wouldn't let him. Dwayne and his dad came to the Don and asked to help get him out of the contract, and he agreed. He went with Chris to see this bandleader and offered him $50,000 to let Dwayne go, but the bandleader laughed in his face. Said Dwayne could make him twice that in a week. So the next day, my father went back to the bandleader, only this time, he went with Dave and John. Within an hour Dad had a signed release for a check of $5,000."

"How the hell did he do that?" Lita asked, wondering in the back of her mind if she really wanted to know.

"Father made the bandleader an offer he couldn't refuse."

"What? What offer?"

Jay took his time sipping his wine, watching Dwayne engage in conversation with Jim Ross. "Dave held a gun to his head, and the Don assured him that either his signature or his brain matter would be on the contract. John was there to add his legs to the negotiation if needed be. No prizes for guessing which offer he chose."

For several long moments Lita stared at Jay, before glancing down at her drink, but he had already caught the horrified look on her face. "You asked for it, I gave it to you," he said conclusively, taking her hand. "Come, we have more guests."

Lita walked around with her husband, resuming her role of the quintessential McMahon wife. She curtsied at the men, air-kissed the women and cooed at the babies. It was clear that Lita McMahon was the spouse to be reckoned with. She possessed charisma and charm in spades, and the warmth with which she drew people around her was undeniably attractive.

When Dwayne finished with the song, Vince made his way up the podium and asked for everyone to be silent. He began to speak when suddenly the massive doors of the Great Hall were thrown open. Everyone turned, and froze, each person unable to believe their eyes at the figure sauntering into the Great Hall.

Eric Bischoff was here, in the flesh, wading into perfectly hostile territory, but he seemed like he was merely taking a walk in the park. For a man facing multiple murder charges (among others), he looked dapper; his salt-and-pepper hair was freshly shaven, and he was dressed in black and rings adorned his fingers.

"Eric," Vince's expression was calm, but his eyes told another story. Now normally, he would have been the bigger man, welcomed an enemy to his home with open arms, and then deal with whatever issue they had behind closed doors. Not Eric Bischoff. He killed his son. To him, he was more than the enemy. He was the devil himself.

"Come on, this is a party, right?" he said, looking round at them all like they were his favorite relatives. "I'm here to celebrate. I'm out on bail, after all! So what's going on, old friend?"

Vince scowled. "I suggest you refrain from using that term so loosely, Eric. We were never friends. And if you're here to humiliate me in front of my family, you picked the wrong time."

Completely ignoring Vince, Eric snapped his fingers as if suddenly remembering something. "Ah yes! I knew something else was up! Today's one of your boys' birthday! How old is he supposed to be? 36? 37? And what was his name again? _Adam_?"

"You mention my child's name again and you will live to regret it!" Linda's voice blurted out angrily, suddenly, coming to stand in front of her shocked husband. She was shaking, not from fear, but with anger as she locked eyes with Eric Bischoff.

"Oh!" he feigned surprise. "So she speaks! Looks like you've relaxed your rules around here, Vincent. Where I'm from, women are seen, not heard."

If she was intimidated, Linda did not show an ounce of it. The McMahon matriarch marched right up to the unwanted guest and stood to her full height, glaring a hole through him that he was pretending to ignore. "And that retrograde mentality of yours is the reason you're in the mess you've found yourself in," she spat. "Now get out of my house."

"Aw, Linda. You don't look very happy to see me." Bischoff then did the unthinkable. He put his hand on her shoulder.

But for timely interventions, it would have been without question the biggest and final mistake he would have made in his life. John lunged towards him in defense of his mother, only to be restrained by Dave and Paul. The sudden, violent movement caused surprised gasps from some of the guests, all of whom had remained silent so far.

For the briefest of seconds, Bischoff's eyes flashed with fear from John's imminent attack, but they quickly resumed their normal cold quality when he realized he was not going to be harmed – not now at least. "Yes, I suggest you keep your boys on their leashes," he said with newfound bravado.

However Linda was not done with Bischoff. "You murdered my son," she reminded him in a dangerous whisper, what little composure she had beginning to fray. "You have no right to be here! Haven't you done enough to this family?"

"First of all," Eric rudely interrupted, "As heartbroken as I was to learn of your son's…_untimely_ passing, you don't actually _know_ that I actually had anything to do with it, do you?"

He paused, grinning at the way she flinched from the callousness of the lie she was so certain he was telling. "You see, you can't keep throwing these accusations around, and you've been doing that for the past decade and a half, I might add. Don't you know the law? I'm innocent until I'm proven guilty. I should sue you for defamation!"

"Like to see you try, asshole!" John piped up, still in the grasp of his brother and brother-in-law, both of whom tightened their hold on him. Vince sent his youngest a cold glare, which basically froze him into silence. Vince detested foul language in front of such important guests and family.

Chuckling snidely, Eric went towards Vincent; an act which caused the other McMahon sons to take cautious steps forward. He moved right beside the older man, close to his ear. "Your destruction, Don, is coming sooner than you think," he whispered. "It'll be amazing. You won't see it coming, but I'll be looking forward to it."

Vincent barely moved his head, but his eyes were fixed on the side of his archrival's own. "You should know better than to threaten me, Eric," he answered, his calm voice laced with the venomous authority that had destroyed so many of his opponents. "You're not the first man that's tried to make a name for himself at my expense."

"Like they say, there's a first time for everything," said Eric. "Maybe this time, I'm gonna succeed." He leaned even closer. "And that's not a threat. It's a promise."

As he took a step back, his dark, malignant eyes looked straight at Lita. The pregnant redhead was so startled that she paled visibly. Instinctively she reached for Jason, who, like everyone else, missed the exchange.

Satisfied with the reaction, Eric Bischoff faced Vincent again and smiled genially, tipping an imaginary hat. "See you in court, Godfather."

Tears streamed down Lita's cheeks as she stared at the picture of Adam in Jay's wallet. She had spent the whole day listening to stories about her former lover, and it was almost more than she could take. She missed him. It ate at her every single day that, barring his killers, she had been the last person to see him alive. And then that horrible Eric Bischoff, showing up at her in-laws' like he owned the place. And the way he looked at her…

A sudden chill ran through her body as his cold, malicious eyes burned in her skull, and she ducked her head, rubbing the goose bumps that had appeared on her arms. She had never realized how frightened she was of that man until today. They had locked eyes for only for the briefest of moments but in that short space of time she had caught a glimpse of the blackness of his soul, the unadulterated hatred for this family and the depths he was willing to delve in to destroy them. It was enough to make her sick to her stomach.

Jay came up to their bedroom. He had just seen off the rest of the guests from his father's residence, all of whom had concluded that Eric Bischoff's presence had an adverse effect on their partying appetites and decided to go home. When she heard the door shut, she quickly slipped his wallet back into his bedside drawer. "Hey," she began, but her voice came out as an incoherent gargle. Jay could tell something was wrong in a heartbeat. "Sweetie?" He moved quickly to her side and brushed her hair out of her face. "You're crying."

"I'm sorry, it's just the hormones," she lied, wiping at her eyes. His eyes fell upon her swollen belly, and he reached out to touch it, making Lita giggle. "You know they're due in less than a month now," she informed him.

"And I can't wait," Jay replied with a huge grin. She returned the smile, though hers didn't light up her face like it usually did. "But the trial…it's starting this week," she began, linking their fingers together. "You're going to be so busy and I don't want to distract you or anyone else…"

"Baby!" he said incredulously. "How could you say that? You could never be a distraction. These are my children – _our_ children – and I wouldn't miss their births for the world. You're my number one priority, and have been ever since the day we wed."

When she kept her head down, Jay hooked his finger underneath her chin and tilted her head, and his heart melted when he saw the sadness in her eyes. "I'll never let anything happen to you, Lita, or them," he told her, gently rubbing his free hand on her tummy. "Never. I would give my life for the three of you in a heartbeat."

That made her smile, and she leaned up to kiss his cheek. Jay wrapped his arms more securely around his wife, and they lay down together on the bed, silence falling as their minds roamed for a long while.

"Jason, I'm scared," she whispered. He nodded his head with understanding. She had every right to be. He was also scared, probably more so than he could ever admit. But he had to be strong for her. For all four of them. "We'll be fine," he promised, kissing her lips. "We'll be okay."

She wanted to believe him, but the things she had seen in Eric Bischoff's eyes foretold a different, more perilous outcome. If that man was going to hell, he planned to drag the entire McMahon clan with him. Lita was afraid that when he did, there would be nothing anyone would be able to do to stop it.

That night, she dreamt of Adam and her infant son, Randall. The white Cadillac they stood in front of turned blood red as Eric Bischoff repeatedly shot them both in the stomach.

_**A/N: About time Bischoff showed up. The plan was to portray him as a rather formidable rival to the McMahons. I hope it worked. If not, don't worry, I have many more dastardly deeds for Bischoff in store. In the meantime, read and review! Thanks!**_


	12. New Arrivals

_**A/N: I'm trying to work on Bullseye right now, but I'm totally stuck. I really hate that! Anyway, here's Chapter 12 of LBM. Enjoy!**_

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New Arrivals**_

Seventeen tumultuous years had finally culminated with the commencement of _the State of Connecticut vs. Eric Bischoff_. One of the most powerful families in the country was left to duke it out with the man who had dared to elevate his quest for domination at their expense in a court of law. The ironies were aplenty and pounced upon by the media. It was destined to be an epic saga it was always destined to be, and the community, and a pretty generous portion of America, was glued to the TV sets.

The Honorable Shawn Michaels was a witty, twinkly-eyed man in his mid-forties. An established legal practitioner for over twenty years, ten of them as a Judge, he had had a history with both Vince McMahon and Eric Bischoff, so only time would tell how much of an impact he would make over the course of the trial.

Chris' partner in the courtroom was a man named Glen Jacobs. He was a friend of Marcus Callaway's and an acquaintance of the McMahons. One of the leading prosecutors in the state, he was affectionately nicknamed by his peers in the law profession as "the Big Red Machine". Big, in that he was over seven feet tall and quite an intimidating specimen both in and out of the courtroom. Red, because of the unadulterated passion with which he addressed to the court, to the point that by the time he was through, his face would be bright red. One could often spot out a member of the jury actually cowering in their seats whenever he came close. The term "Machine" acknowledged his stellar and often effortless work ethic, similar to a well-oiled machine, and which he did tirelessly on behalf of his clients. Anyone who wished to take Jacobs had to bring their A-game or they would be soundly humiliated.

But the veteran had a challenge awaiting him in Michael Mizanin. Chris had been right to be weary of the young lawyer. A Harvard Law School graduate, summa cum laude, Mizanin already had one landmark ruling – decided in his favor – under his belt, the significance and controversy of the case akin to that of _Roe vs. Wade_.

His accompanying counsel, Ron Killings, made up the experience that complemented Mizanin's green exuberance. A former bartender with ten years of impressive public service behind him, Killings was notorious for his brutal honesty, a trait very uncharacteristic in the average lawyer, but he was adored in the courtroom for it, even acquiring the moniker "the Truth". While most lawyers messed around with the court's time, throwing everything at the wall to see what could stick, Killings plowed forward only with the evidence he had. He immediately admitted when he hadn't proved a point and refrained from gloating when he proved something. His straight-up attitude was so shocking, and yet so endearing – and unnerving to his opponents – that he often got his way, as juries, witnesses and judges ate out of his hands. Observers were quick to emphasize the talent of Killings, but they believed that Bischoff had also picked him to dispel rumors that he was racist. Whatever anyone chose to believe, it was nonetheless a wise decision on the defendant's part.

After Bischoff repeated his not guilty plea, Mizanin started off by orally filing numerous motions to the court, including one for continuance on further fact finding for the case. Chris and Glen vehemently objected to each and every one of them, dismissing the motions as frivolous. Judge Michaels didn't miss a beat. He sustained all of Chris' objections and frowned at the young Defense counsel. "Mr. Mizanin, while I admire your persistence, I'd like you to know that I do not like having my time wasted. We've waited, how long, eight, nine months for you to build your case. 'Further fact finding'? What have you been doing all this time? Hiking?"

"I apologize, your Honor," Mizanin said meekly, his eyes on the Judge, who pursed his lips in annoyance. "Good. Now that we've set that straight, we can begin. Bring in the jurors."

Twenty prospective jurors were brought in, of which twelve were selected. Nine of them were secretly on Vince McMahon's payroll. If anybody knew that, they had no plans to talk.

Though Chris and Glen had taken their time building a convincing case against Eric Bischoff, Mizanin and Killings were systematically picking every argument apart, always taking care to remind the jury that any reasonable doubt whatsoever would acquit his client and in his view, nothing they had heard so far from Prosecution pointed directly towards Eric Bischoff. He himself appeared unperturbed by the whole thing, checking his watch every other second.

Glen made a motion for witness examination to commence at the next court date to which both Michaels and the Defense counsel agreed. When Court was adjourned, Jim Ross, who had been sitting behind them, followed Chris and Glen out. "How's Mother?" Chris immediately asked JR, referring to Linda, who was at home. Though she never had any doubt in her son's abilities in the courtroom, she always found herself having a nervous breakdown whenever Chris was in court.

"She's doing fine, son," Jim answered. "The ladies have been keeping her occupied."

Chris smiled, as did Glen. "Well, just let her know that she's got nothing to worry about," the big man said.

"I agree," JR remarked. "Not to take anything away from Mizanin or Killings, but I can't see them being a big problem for either of you." His voice dropped to a whisper as they neared the court's exit. "Where do you suggest we can we meet so that the Don and I can go through what we're going to say?"

"We'd prefer it if the Don made that choice, Jim," Glen advised. "We always want our witnesses to be as comfortable as possible when we run things over with them."

That suited JR just fine, as long as they didn't have to come to his Inn. He wanted to keep all this away from Randy as much as possible. The Family knew about his son, but they had only seen him a few times and the last time was when he was about five or six years old. "We can come to your residence, Glen, if that's okay." he said. He knew that Glen Jacobs had a mock courtroom built in his basement, complete with fittings for judge, jury and spectators, which he used to prep his witnesses. None had ever left that place without feeling confident about their upcoming performance at the real thing.

He shrugged his consent. "Fine with me."

"Good," said JR. "Give me a call and we'll be there."

The media frenzy that greeted them outside the court was manic, with cameramen snapping at their heels and journalists shoving mics and tape recorders in their faces, screaming questions at them. Chris and Glen ignored them all, hurrying towards their chauffeured car and driving off without saying a word to the press.

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It was decided among the McMahons, Jim Ross and Paul Levesque that every time court was in session the wives had to be at home. They were not to see the husbands until they returned from court and were safely at home. Since Lita was no longer in any shape to be moving anywhere, the girls set up camp at her place to help her out with the final stages of her pregnancy.

She sat by the counter inside the spacious kitchen, watching with immense amusement as her companions bickered over baby names. "How about Jamie and Taylor?" Stacy offered, biting into a baby carrot. "They're unisex enough, right? No matter who pops out, the names are perfectly suitable."

"I like Lincoln and Tony for boys," said Trish. "And Ariel and Belle for girls."

Melina glanced up from her cooking to shake her head incredulously at Trish. "Where are we, Disneyland? I am _not _going to let Lita name her kids after a mermaid."

"I think the names should rhyme since they're twins," Maria suggested, pouring Lita a cup of skimmed milk, her huge green eyes gazing at the pregnant redhead for her approval. It was not lost on anybody that out of all her female in-laws the young lady looked up to Jason's wife the most. "How about Byron and Bryan if they're boys, and Alicia and Felicia if they're girls?"

Lita's nose crinkled with skepticism. "Rhyming?"

"Rhyming isn't that bad," Stacy said, "it's kinda cute, but before you know it the _parents_ will be mixing the names up, let alone us. How about you name them after either you or Jay, Lita?"

"Too predictable," argued Stephanie, sitting in between Trish and Maria, who made a face at her fellow McMahon spouses. "I still think they should rhyme!" the youngest lady insisted. "Okay, how about Geraldine and Jacqueline? That sounds better, right-"

"No, no, no, no!" Melina quickly turned to Lita, as if expecting her to back her up. "Come on Lita! Put a stop to this before I hear Maria asking to name your kids 'Milli' and 'Vanilli'."

Lita and the rest of the contingent burst into laughter, tears rolling down some faces. "Mel, you're crazy. Leave 'Ria alone." Stephanie giggled, putting a supportive arm around a blushing Maria's shoulder.

"Or, you could just name the girl after me," Melina added. "She could be Melanie, and whatever you else you want to name them. Simple."

Trish pointed at her triumphantly. "A-ha! Now we've got to Mel's point. That's what you really wanted to say all this time, isn't it Mel?"

Melina did nothing except stir the soup she was making, but her cheeky smile gave her away. Lita couldn't stop laughing, and deep down she was glad that they were all around to cheer her up like this.

Suddenly one of the babies kicked, and she hissed slightly with pain. Immediately everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to her. Lita winced as a plethora of "Oh my God, Lita!", "Are you okay?" and "Are you alright?" rained down on her. "I'm fine, people." she insisted, shifting a bit in her seat. "Kid just kicked me, that's all."

Maria eyed Lita's bulging belly for a moment and smiled at the older woman. "It looks like I'll get to see them before I go back to law school."

"Oh, I hope so," said Lita, leaning back to sit more comfortably. "I feel like I'm about to burst any moment now."

"Trust me, before you know it they'll be here," Stephanie told her soothingly. But Lita was tired. These babies were making her tired. She could barely even see her feet anymore. She just wanted to give birth and get it over with already. She had been lucky. The pregnancy had gone along rather smoothly for someone who had last endured childbirth nearly twenty years ago. She remembered what she had gone through the last time and now knew what to expect at each trimester.

"I wonder how the trial's going," Stacy suddenly said. The kitchen fell silent, as none of them was really sure if they were supposed to talk about it. But Melina, being her usual rebellious self, decided to break the ice. "Please, we all know Trish's man is kicking Bischoff's ass," she said.

Trish smirked and winked at Dave's young wife. "Oh, you know it, honey."

Lita felt her heartstrings tug as she thought of her own husband. He gone barely three hours and she was already missing him. Despite her insisting that he attend the trial instead of staying back with her, she found herself wishing she hadn't pushed it. She really wanted him by her side right now. "I need to go to the bathroom," she informed them, standing up.

"You sure you don't want me to help?" Maria asked Lita, getting to her feet, but Lita shooed her back down. "For the last time, I'm fine." She waddled slowly out of the kitchen and into the living room. "Jeez," she muttered, "I'm pregnant, not crippled."

"Oh, I just remembered that I have to make an urgent phone call," said Stacy, slapping her forehead with her palm. "And my phone's in my purse."

She hurried out of the kitchen, but she nearly slipped on the slick marble floor as she made a first turn. "Whoa!" she shrieked, barely managing to hang on to the wall to regain her footing. Surprised, her eyes followed the trail of liquid ahead of her. "There's water all over the floor! Is something leaking?" She looked up and gasped. "Oh…"

Standing by the dining table, a puddle of water pooled around her outspread feet, Lita locked terrified eyes with Shane's wife.

"Yeah," she panted, clutching her stomach with both hands. "_I_ am."

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_**A/N: Please review.**_


	13. Breaking Point

_**A/N: No reviews for the last chapter! Ach! My heart is broken. Anyway, here is Chapter 13, and it's simply because I love all y'all. Fingers crossed that I get response for this one.**_

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_**Breaking Point**_

Three days had gone by since the trial began. The distraction gave Randy more time to work on how exactly he was going to break his own bit of news to his foster father. He had gone over it a million times in private with Michelle, but no time ever seemed right and no explanation seemed plausible enough. Maybe the moment would just present itself. Randy was hoping so, because he was running out of confidence as well as the options.

By the time work was over and the last patron had gone home, Randy was exhausted. It seemed like the entire county had waltzed into JR's today for _something_. But Randy was too nervous to stay tired. He had promised himself that today was the day he would finally come clean about his wrestling. Maybe if he could sit him down and explain everything from scratch and stress just how important wrestling is to him, Jim would understand and even more hopefully, give his blessing by signing that letter. He had brought it with him, the yellow piece of paper stashed safely underneath the counter for later.

"Here he comes," Michelle whispered to Randy, carrying a tray stacked with used dishes. "I'll be outside." She flashed him a thumbs up for good luck and disappeared.

Dread thumped inside Randy's chest as Jim burst through the door. It was now or never. "JR," he started. "Um, can I talk to you?"

But the commentator didn't say a word. Instead he made a hurried beeline for his son. Randy glanced into his eyes and saw distress; panic, even. "JR?" He got even more puzzled when Jim seized his arm and began leading him away. "Jim! What's going on?" he asked, but the "obey now ask questions later" look on JR's face prompted his question to fade away. Jim stopped in front of the storage room and opened the door, pushing Randy inside. "Stay here," he whispered firmly. "And don't come out until I say so!" Without another word he shut the door, leaving Randy to wonder what the hell was going on.

Seconds passed before Randy realized just how dark the room was. He turned on the light and then pressed his ears to the door. He could hear people talking, but could not make out anything coherent. Giving up, he took a seat and waited. And waited. And waited. He even ended up doing an impromptu inventory on the stock out of boredom. He wasn't wearing his watch but he guessed he had been in there for about half an hour. Getting up and going back to the door, he cracked it open just a bit. He couldn't see Jim, but he could see another figure, a tall hulking man, weighing at least over 350 pounds, wearing a bandana over his cornrow hairstyle. Actually, there were _two _of them. Same imposing sizes, same mean, destructive expressions. One hung back as the other spoke, saying something to JR in a low voice that Randy couldn't hear. Suddenly he felt terribly uncomfortable about leaving Jim out there on his own, even if he had been told to. This was not the first time that someone had come in to threaten Jim, but that not mean that it ever got any easier for Randy.

Both men soon sauntered out of the Inn. JR finally came into view, sidling towards the counter and expelling a breath, fiddling with his hat. His back was to Randy but the teen could see how shaken he was. When Randy was certain the men were gone, he threw the door open and hurried towards his foster father, afraid that he'd been physically hurt in some way. "JR, are you okay?"

Jim turned around, and Randy stopped in his tracks as he took in the red, thunderous face that glared back at him.

"What is this?" Jim asked, thrusting his hand towards the teenager. Randy's eyes widened as he stared back at the piece of paper in his father's grasp. Shit, he had already seen the letter. Of all the million ways he had conjured up in his mind to tell Jim about his plans, this was _not_ one of them, and Randy felt his confidence slip yet again. Taking a deep breath, he began. "It's a letter of acceptance from the AWA," he said quietly. "I'm going to New York to become a full-time wrestler."

Jim narrowed his eyes. "You're kidding me."

"I'm not. The deal's practically done. I've already told them yes and they're-"

"_You said yes_?" His eyes were bulging out of their sockets.

"I've always wanted to become a wrestler, you know that!" Randy argued, his voice taking on a desperate quality. "I'm not gonna be here bartending for the rest of my life! That's not what I want! I want this!"

Jim was in a rage now. "You must be outta your damn mind! Did you even tell me about this?"

"I didn't think you would listen." He admitted it easily, because it was true. He pointed at the letter in Jim's hands. "I have to have a guardian sign the bottom of the second page. Please, JR. I need this more than you could ever understand. Please sign the form."

Jim stared at him for a long moment. Then without breaking eye contact, he took the form between his thumbs and index fingers, and slowly, meticulously, he ripped it up into little pieces before scattering them into the air. "Like hell I will!" he said in a tone that he usually reserved for his boss's enemies.

Randy's eyes followed the decimated scraps fluttering towards the ground. The anger, the frustration that was bottled up inside of the young man finally spilled forth, and he snapped. With a loud roar he swept his hands sideways, knocking the table between them aside. He screamed, "Why are you so hell bent on messing up my life?"

"I'm not messing up anything!" JR answered defensively. "This is for your own good!"

"That's crap! You don't care about me! All you ever do is keep me in the dark! You come home exhausted, you don't sleep! You think I don't hear you making your phone calls in the middle of the night, talking to somebody or practicing some stupid speech you're gonna make in front of some fucking courtroom?"

"Watch your language with me, young man!" Jim said, pointing a warning finger at him. Randy knew he had hit a nerve, but he was on too much of a roll to stop now. "You're overstressed, JR and it's showing! Working for Vince McMahon is not worth risking your health, your life, your family!"

A pause. "You don't understand…"

"Then _explain it to me_!" There was a tinge of impatience in his voice. He really was sounding like a broken record. He had lost track of how many times he had said those words. "Let me understand! I've been begging you for God-knows-how-long to tell me what's going on with you! Why do you feel like you need to hide anything from me? Like those two guys that came here – yeah, I saw them – What did they want?"

JR put one finger up in warning. "You will stay out of this, Randy. I mean it. We won't talk about this again."

Randy was heaving. "You are so fucking unfair, you know that?" he spat bitterly. He didn't care that he swore. He was beyond pissed that his father, a man who had raised him to trust him, did not even respect him enough to return the courtesy.

A tense, stony silence fell between them. "Maybe I've been more lenient on you than I thought," Jim finally said, his voice hard as stone. "I'm taking you off the counter. You listen to too much nonsense there. You'll handle the stock at the back. I'll find someone to take your place as soon as possible."

Randy's face fell, his mouth dropping open with shock. "You can't do that!"

"I own this place!" Jim retorted authoritatively before walking away, "I can do whatever the hell I want!"

He strode around the table to follow JR. "I'm your son! You owe me an-"

But JR rounded on him, and jabbing the boy hard in the shoulder with his finger, shouted: "You _ain't _my son, and I don't owe you _shit_!"

The words were out before he could stop them. Randy abruptly stopped moving, looking like an anvil had been dropped on his head. He stumbled backwards a bit, staring at JR with utter disbelief. JR cringed, realizing what he had just said, and tried desperately to salvage the situation. "Randy…shit, Randy I'm sorry…"

But it was no use. Randy stared at JR. His usually vibrant blue eyes were cold and empty, as if all form of feeling had been sucked out of him by JR's hurtful words. Saying nothing, he strode past Jim and up the stairs. Without so much as a backward glance, he rushed into his room, slamming the door and locking it with a loud click.

Jim took off his hat and dropped it on the table. He flopped down onto the seat and covered his face in his hands. God, what had he done? How could he have said something like that? He had just thrown a bomb into that boy's face without thinking of the consequences. When had he become this angry, this aggressive towards a teenage boy who looked up to him so much?

He heard a sniffle, and his eyes flew open, turning his head to the side. A wide-eyed Michelle was standing at the entrance of the back door, and judging from the unshed tears pooled in her eyes, she had heard every word exchanged between both men.

"Go home, girl," JR mumbled the only thing that he could think of to say. His gaze averting hers, he slowly, awkwardly got to his feet and exited the Inn, his hands on his head.

As soon as he was gone, Michelle sprinted up the stairs, coming to a stop at Randy's door. She lifted a trembling hand and knocked softly. "Randy?" she said, pausing to clear her suddenly dry throat. "Randy, it's me. Please let me in."

After several long seconds, the door finally opened. Michelle gasped softly as she took in Randy's anguished features, his red eyes and tear-streaked face. Without hesitation she reached for him, pulling him into a hug. Randy collapsed in her embrace, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he wept. Michelle felt the tears she had been holding in finally spill forth down her cheeks. She held him close, rocking slightly from side to side as his arms stayed wrapped around her slender waist, clinging to her for dear life.

They stayed that way for some time, with Michelle's dainty fingers stroking his back. She felt him begin to pull away, and she started to ask if he needed anything, but stopped cold when his lips pressed against hers. It happened so quickly that she could have sworn she had imagined it, but the mortified look on his face afterwards dispelled all doubt. Stepping back, she stared at him in mild shock and confusion, breathless from that fleeting moment of contact.

"Shit," Randy mumbled, turning his face away, his cheeks a bright shade of red. "I'm sorry, Michelle. I…I shouldn't have done that-"

"Don't." Her voice was soft as she placed her hand on his mouth to silence him. Randy felt himself getting reeled in by the warm, beautiful blue depths of her eyes. He couldn't look away if he tried but then again, he didn't want to. And judging from the less-than-chaste look on her gorgeous face neither did she.

"You need this," Michelle whispered huskily, moving closer to him. "We _both_ need this…"

Their mouths met again, this time in a passionate, emotional explosion. Randy's hand circled the back of Michelle's neck, his other arm pulling her flush against him as they kissed. Tongues clashed, hands roamed, and the tension hit breaking point. Their lips still joined together, Randy backed into the room, taking Michelle in with him before reaching out blindly to shut the door behind them.

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_**A/N: Okay…so how did that go? Please let me know with some reviews! Thank you!**_


	14. You Still Haunt Me

_**A/N: Yay! I'm updating again. However it seems that writer's block wants my number! This took sooo long to write. I hope you do enjoy it though. Please review and make me happy.**_

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_**You Still Haunt Me**_

Three days after giving birth, Lita was discharged from the hospital with Jason and the twins in tow. She and Jay had decided to name their children Adam, after his twin brother; and Amelia. "I just think it's really pretty" had been her reason for their daughter's name, and it went unopposed, much to her relief. Though both infants had their father's blue eyes, little Adam was blessed with a generous mop of blond hair, and curly auburn locks adorned the top of baby Amelia's head.

As was custom within the McMahon family, a huge party was thrown in honor of the new arrivals courtesy of their proud grandparents. The wives, led by Stephanie, all ran around on Lita's behalf, organizing everyone and everything. The new mother simply sat in a plush armchair all day with baby Amelia in her arms. Jay was holding Adam, beaming from ear to ear as he mingled with his friends, whose wives cooed at the baby boy.

Lita had never seen so many people in a single house. They were everywhere, and had come from far and wide to congratulate Don McMahon on the new additions to his vast family. "You'd think _he_ was the one that popped out the kids," Stephanie griped. Not that her father could help it. Being such a powerful man, everyone wanted to meet with him, to be near him. Vincent McMahon was rich. He was powerful. He was everything they all aspired to be.

Lita had just asked Maria to get her some water when a deep, gruff voice said, "Congratulations."

Don Callaway had on his face what was probably meant to be a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. Lita had never seen him smile at anybody, so this was quite a step forward. She realized that he had been waiting patiently for all the fawning women to dissipate before he finally got his time with the new mother. Lita took his hand and kissed it, as a sign of respect, and then held baby Amelia out to him. "Do you wanna hold her?" she asked.

It was obvious that he hadn't expected that question. "Of course." He gingerly took Amelia and held her in his massive arms.

Lita had never really known what to make of Marcus Callaway. He was reserved and seemed content to remain in the shadow of his older cousin, Vincent. She seldom spoke to him because he was so reclusive. Occasionally she would catch him staring hard at her, but every time she got brave enough to question him, he gave no answer, perplexing her even more.

She watched several emotions flit across his weathered face as he gazed down at her daughter. Like everyone else, she knew about the death of his only son, and wondered if this brought back memories of him holding his newborn son all those years ago.

"She's a beauty," Mark finally said, with just a hint of approval in his voice. "Just like her mother."

She sent him an appreciative smile. Maria returned with the water, and Lita chugged it in one go. She hadn't realized she was so thirsty. She looked up and saw Mark gazing intently at her. "Is there a problem, Don?" she queried.

His expression was blank and innocent. "No. None at all." He handed the baby back to Lita, and then leaned down to kiss her on both cheeks. "Congratulations."

* * *

By nighttime, Lita was almost out on her feet, and she was grateful to retreat to the familiar sanctuary of her bedroom. Two brand new cribs – courtesy of Shane and Stacy – were the new pieces of furniture in the corner of the room. She placed Adam in the one with the blue lining, and Amelia in the pink.

Jay came in minutes later. "Putting them to bed?" he whispered so as not to wake his children. He had a huge, proud smile on his face as he came towards his wife. "About time, too," she replied. "Lord knows they need their rest. And so do _you_," she added, concern in her eyes as she caressed Jay's face. He looked exhausted.

"It has been a long couple of days," he admitted with a yawn. "But it's all been worth it. I've come home with two of the most beautiful children in the world."

Lita couldn't help but smile. She could never get enough of his compliments. "Well, I've told you before. You'd make an excellent father."

Moving in from behind, he wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a long, lingering kiss on the temple. Lita shut her eyes with a sigh and leaned back against him, intertwining her fingers with his. They remained like that for a long time.

"I'm so proud of you, sweetheart," Jay whispered in her ear. "I can't put in words how much I love you."

Why did she always feel a dull stab of pain within her whenever he said those three words?

* * *

_She'd been here before._

_Amy wandered through the deserted, desiccated area of land, unable to shake off the odd saturnine sensation that had lodged in her gut. There was something about this place that seemed so familiar to her, yet she just couldn't put her finger on it._

_The indiscernible blur in her mind suddenly melted away, and she could see the scene in front of her as clear as day; walking through the heavy wooden doors, placing the baby's basket on the table at the reception, tentatively stating her intentions to the kind old lady that had attended to her. And she remembered. This was the road to one of the lowest points in her life, en route to giving up her most precious possession seventeen years ago. _

_This was the way to the orphanage._

_She began to feel very hot, causing her to push back her chestnut-colored hair. Her eyes were starting to prickle from the thickening smoke. Ahead of her, there was a bright light, and the sound of loud crackling. Curiosity got the better of her and she moved closer despite the now scorching heat. _

_Then she saw it. A lone building, engulfed in an angry ball of fire. Her eyes widened with recognition, which gave way to horrified realization. _

_The orphanage was ablaze._

"_Oh God! No!" Amy screamed, running as fast as she could towards it, but her steps soon faltered. The thick black smoke made it difficult to see clearly and the fire was hot and bright, burning with a rage that would have consumed her in seconds. Covering her mouth and nose with her hands, she turned her head left and right, looking for water, sand, anything to put the fire out. Her primary concern was Randall. What if he was still inside? What if – dare she think it – he was still alive? She had to try. She was here for a reason, and she could bet that it was for this very moment; a second chance at saving her son._

_Before she knew it though, the fire was out, the building having been razed to the ground. All that was left was the smoke and debris. Ashes floated in the air like dark, morbid snowflakes. Confusion and fear coursing through her, Amy checked the area for any movement, any sign of life at all. She waved her hand in front of her in another feeble attempt at clearing the smoke from her path. She could barely see a thing. _

_But something was moving, rustling underneath all the ash and the rubble. She could hear it. She gasped as suddenly, it rose up out of the debris, emerging from the ashes. She took several steps back, frightened. It stood to its full height, tall and statuesque, shrouded in what looked like a hooded cloak. Its face was hidden._

"_Who…who are you?" Amy called out to it, sounding much braver than she felt._

_**Why did you leave me?**_

_Amy froze at the sound of the voice; a little boy's voice. She spun around, expecting someone to be there with her. But she was alone. _

_**Why did you leave me, mother?**_

_The blood drained from her face. No…no, it couldn't be. _

"_Randall?" _

_**I needed you, mother, and you abandoned me. **_

"_No, I didn't!" she shook her head vehemently, tears streaming down her face. "I didn't want to leave you, Randall. I…I had to. I just wanted you to be safe."_

_As she was speaking, a shadow loomed behind the figure. The moment she saw the face of Eric Bischoff her heart dropped to her toes. He didn't seem to have seen Amy but she could see him clearly. He was sneaking up on the cloaked figure, his eyes glinting diabolically._

"_Look out!" she screamed, breaking into a run towards him. She watched in horror as Bischoff pointed his gun right at the back of his head. _

_The gunshot was deafening._

Lita sat up abruptly, dragging in a rasping, panicked breath. Her wide, fearful eyes darted everywhere as she struggled to take in her surroundings. But there was no burning orphanage, no mysteriously veiled persons, no Eric Bischoff; they had all just faded away. Shutting her eyes, she covered her face with her hands.

Never had a dream felt so real. Her face was coated with sweat, yet the air-conditioning was working perfectly. The air was fresh and cool, but she could still smell the putrid fumes from the burning orphanage; still feel the overpowering heat of the blaze and taste the smoke that had coagulated inside her lungs. In the back of her eyelids she could still see the blinding lights, the amber outlines of the merciless flames, how the fire had licked and gnawed at the building until it lay crumbled at its feet.

Luckily her nightmare had not woken Jason. Seeing him lying peacefully beside her finally convinced the redhead that she was safe. Now she needed to confirm that her children were, too.

As carefully as she could, she eased herself off the bed and moved across the room towards the cribs. The moonlight seeped through the window, casting a light over the faces of the newborns. As she watched them slumber peacefully, an eerie sense of déjà vu swept through her, and for a moment she was seventeen again, watching Randall as she struggled with a decision that she was probably too young to make.

At the time, putting him up for adoption had been the right thing to do. His safety had been her sole priority. Only a monster like Eric Bischoff would exact his vengeance by torching an orphanage, sacrificing innocent children on the altar of an ambition fuelled by pure hate. He was intruding her dreams more frequently, with each subsequent action more heinous than the last. Lita had always trusted her instincts, and for a long time now they had been warning her that art may, sooner than later, begin to imitate life.

How she wished she could turn back time. Maybe things would have been completely different. For one, she would have never let Randall out of her sight. The moment the twins had been born she made a vow to protect them with her life. She would not let them go the way she had so easily with her firstborn. To this day she was paying dearly for it, as well as Adam's murder, with her sanity.

_Why did you leave me?_

Lita let out a gasp of pain at the memory of that little boy's voice. It belonged to Randall, without a doubt. But the anguish, the anger and raw pain that she'd heard in his tone…guilt and pain pierced her soul so deeply that she literally felt it.

_Why did you leave me, mother?_

She put her hands over her ears, unable to take it anymore. "Stop…please, stop," she begged, hot tears spilling down her cheeks.

_I needed you, mother, and you abandoned me…_

Lita began to cry. Her entire body shook from her sobs, hardly able to breathe. So overwhelmed was she by all the terrible memories that she collapsed to the ground. She gripped whatever part of the babies' cribs that was within her reach, pressing her face against it as she wept.

"I'm sorry…" she sobbed, "I'm so sorry…"

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_**A/N: I know, I know. It seems that nothing has made Lita happy pretty much throughout this story. Unfortunately that's not really going to change. But I do hope you're enjoying it! Feedback would be excellent, so please review!**_

_**A/A/N: Title chapter taken from "My Immortal" by Evanescence, one of the greatest rock ballads of all time.**_


	15. Six Little Words

_**A/N: Thanks a bunch to **__**Breathe Artistic**__**, **__**SLSheartsRKO**__** , **__**Mattaggot**__** and **__**Hailey Egan**__** for the reviews! I really appreciate it! Enjoy Chapter 15.**_

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_**Six Little Words**_

As expected, things were painfully strained in the Ross household lately. Ever since their bust-up, JR and Randy were no longer on speaking terms. The Consigliore continued working away from home and whenever he was around, Randy ignored him. As promised, Jim had hired a young man named Jack to take over Randy's duties. About the same age and height as Randy, he turned out to be rather capable with the workload at the Inn. Randy despised his blond rival on sight and avoided him at all costs. He spent all of his free time hanging out with Michelle, who tried hard to get JR and Randy to reconcile, but neither was having any of it.

Their picnics at the park had become a routine activity and something the couple always looked forward to. Today, Randy wore a pair of jeans and a red graphic t-shirt while Michelle looked simple but stunning in a cornflower-blue sundress with a matching Alice band to hold back her lustrous blonde hair, which was set in delicate curls. "All for you," she had told Randy with a cheeky wink, and he felt like the luckiest boy in the entire town.

"I persuaded Jack to give us some root beer from the store. What?" Michelle sighed when Randy made a disapproving grunt. "You never did tell me why you hate him so much."

"Because he's a douche," he said matter-of-factly, opening a can of Sprite, "he thinks he's the best bartender on the planet, and I hate the way he looks at you like you're something to eat. And what kinda stupid name is Jack _Swagger_?"

A smirk played on her lips. "You sound jealous, little man."

He brought his face close to hers. "I think you know, sweetheart," he whispered with a deep husky tone, a devilish glint in his eye, "there ain't nothin' little about me."

God, she looked so adorable when she blushed. He watched with amusement as she began digging into the picnic basket with more vigor than was necessary. "So," she started, retrieving some apples and oranges. "Are you still going to the AWA?"

Randy shot her a strange look. "What are you talking about? Of course I'm going."

Confusion crossed her features. "But you don't have his consent." She took care not to mention JR's name for fear of setting Randy off. Last time she did so inadvertently, he scowled through the rest of the day.

"I don't need it," Randy replied dismissively. "I got a new application form and convinced Coach Angle to sign as my guardian yesterday. Oh, don't look at me like that, 'Chelle. I told you where I stand with JR. At this moment, he means nothing to me."

Michelle was appalled. "Randy! How could you say that?"

"_You_ heard him, didn't you? He's not my father. I'm not his son. I'm merely living under his roof. But that's all gonna change real soon."

Michelle eyed her boyfriend with concern as he crushed the empty Sprite can in his fist until it was nothing more than a little tin ball. "Randy," she said, her tone pleading, "You can't hold what happened against him forever. He said some things he shouldn't have, yes, but it doesn't mean he meant them."

"I don't wanna talk about it anymore, okay?"

His tone was final, but Michelle hadn't missed the flash of anger and pain in his azure irises. "Fine, be that way," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Thank you. Now, tell me what's new with the trial."

After several weeks, the Eric Bischoff case was beginning to wind down, but the odds were against him for an acquittal. Explosive testimonies had been made against him in court by eternal enemies and life-long allies, the most important name on the roll being the Godfather himself, Don Vincent McMahon. It looked like the seventeen plus years that the former Mob boss had spent running from the law was going to culminate with him being locked away for life, thanks in no small part to the contribution of his worst enemy.

Thanks to Michelle, Randy had the full, authenticated lowdown on Eric Bischoff, from his early days up until this low point in his fabulously seedy life. Randy had managed to catch on TV the aging man with a worn face taking the stand and giving his own testimony to the court. It was all very fascinating really, like a gangster movie being played out in real life. Even more interesting was how Michelle knew so much about Bischoff. It appeared that she had followed his story quite diligently. And like nearly everybody in the community, she was praying fervently for him to go to jail.

After their picnic they went down to the beach to watch the sunset. They sat in comfortable silence, their fingers entwined, stretching out their long legs in the warm sand. When Randy looked down at Michelle however, the tears he saw streaming down her cheeks startled him. "Baby, what's wrong?" he inquired, gently lifting her face up.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, ducking her head and wiping at her eyes. "I just…I know it's selfish, but…I wish you didn't have to leave." She just couldn't believe how hard and how fast she had fallen for Randy. And now he was going to leave her just as she was coming to terms with her feelings. He wasn't gone for another week or so, but she just felt very emotional about it.

Overcome with emotion of his own, Randy dipped his head and kissed her deeply. She reciprocated without hesitation, and they wrapped their arms around each other, making their feelings known in that tender moment. Randy held Michelle's face in his hands and pressed his forehead against hers.

"Come to New York with me," he told her.

She went so still that he wasn't sure she was breathing anymore. Her voice was feeble when she said, "What?"

"Come with me," he repeated, taking her hand. "Let's start a new life together. It'll be just you and me; nobody to boss us around or tell us what to do. Think about it; a new place, a new environment. It'll be a fresh start for both of us."

Dumbfounded, she stared at him. "_Think_? Randy, this is New York we're talking about! How are we gonna cope on our own in such a big city? Two teenagers!"

"Coach says there are lots of student jobs in the area. You can get one, and we can get a cheap apartment together." She still seemed reluctant, and Randy pressed on. "Come on, 'Chelle, it makes perfect sense. What do you really have to lose?"

_You_, she thought glumly. "But…_why_ would you want me there? I'll just be a distraction."

Randy looked confused. "Why would you think that?"

"I mean, it's a new environment, a new city, and you're young and you're hot and single…" She picked at the hem of her dress, refusing to meet his eyes, "and there'll be other single girls-"

"Yeah, but it's not them I'm in love with."

Michelle's jaw dropped, stunned. Did he just say…

Randy could see that she hadn't expected this answer and rightly so. Since they started dating, the "L" word had never popped up. But that was the only reason he had. He'd been in love with Michelle McCool from the moment they first met. Everything about her drew him in like a fish to bait. She was beautiful inside and out, extraordinarily wise for her age, and had so much in common with him. Very few people understood him, and she had managed to do just that in such a short time of knowing him. She had become such a big part of his life that the mere thought of her no longer being in it scared him. "I love you, Michelle," he confirmed.

She stared at him for a long moment, before casting her gaze toward the beautiful scenery in front of them. The sun had almost disappeared into the silver ocean. "Randy," she sighed. "I…I'm not all that great, you know?"

"You are to me," he replied softly, holding her close. "I want _you_, okay? I want you by my side throughout this whole thing, because you encouraged me to pursue it. And honestly, I don't wanna go anywhere if you're not gonna be there."

Her head was spinning. This felt like some sort of dream; a dream she never wanted to wake up from. But she had to, at least for now. "I have to think about it," she said finally. "I need some time to think. Please?"

He held her gaze with such intensity that she felt it radiate right through her clothes and under her skin. "Promise you'll give me an answer soon?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied with a sincere nod. "Yes, I promise."

* * *

It was almost midnight. Randy and Michelle were at the front porch outside the self-contained bungalow she lived in, expressing their goodnights in another amorous embrace. For some reason tonight, they couldn't seem to get enough of each other.

"Mm, I could do this all night," he murmured against her lips, his muscular body pressing hers against the wall. Michelle giggled, snaking her hands up his chest and around his neck. "Sounds tempting," she admitted, "but we got work tomorrow, remember?"

Making an exasperated sound, Randy dropped his head into the curve of her neck. "Do I _have_ to go?" he whined.

"Yes, because you have to talk to JR," she said firmly. "You promised."

"Fine." He reached up and touched her face, cupping her cheek in his hand. "And I'll be waiting patiently for your answer, like _you_ promised."

Michelle couldn't stop another giggle from escaping her throat. "You sound like you proposed."

"Ah, let's not get too hasty now," Randy joked, making her laugh again. "I totally agree. I should go to bed," she said, stifling a yawn. "It's getting late."

Nodding, Randy kissed her on her forehead. She ducked her head a little, slowly tracing the beautiful gold crucifix on his neck with her fingers. "Obviously, I've never met your mom," she looked back up at him, her voice soft and compassionate, "but I know that she'll be very proud of you right now."

Randy kept his gaze on his girlfriend, his eyes filled with the love he'd proclaimed for her only hours ago. "Goodnight, 'Chelle."

With that, they shared one last goodnight kiss. For Randy, it always felt like their first. He'd never felt this way about anybody and he hoped Michelle could see that. He really hoped she would agree to go with him to New York.

* * *

Michelle had a goofy grin on her face, floating on air after her wonderful day with Randy. Every moment she spent with him further confirmed that her decision to move to the East coast was a first-rate one.

Working at JR's Inn and meeting Randy Ross was the closest thing to normalcy she'd had in a long time. It was a very welcome change from the wretched sordidness that had been her life more than a year ago, when she hadn't been as clean-cut and self-assured as Randy thought she was…

She flopped onto the worn armchair in the living room with a deep sigh, raking her hands through her blonde hair. She hated thinking about those times. She'd been in such a dark place in her life; so young and naïve and eager to please. Breaking away had been the most terrifying and at the same time, the most exhilarating experience of her young life. The fact that she did do it made her realize that she was a lot stronger than she gave herself credit for.

She hadn't brought herself to tell Randy about her past not just because she was ashamed of it, but mainly because she was afraid of his reaction. He was judgmental, and he had put her on such a high pedestal that living up to his expectations grew more burdensome the longer she kept it from him. Maybe when he was settled in New York she would tell him, during one of her visits. It would be unfair to spring it on him in the middle of this transition period of his life. But she now knew that she couldn't hide any longer. Not after what he'd told her tonight.

Not with the way she felt about him.

_Come with me…_

_I love you…_

Who knew six little words could be so have this much effect on her?

Reaching for the TV remote, she clicked on the TV and the news was on. A photograph was flashing on the screen, one she recognized. As the corresponding story ran on, her face became a sickly shade of white. The remote fell from her hands, and she began to tremble. Her lips parted, uttering one single word;

"No…"

In her mind's eye she saw her nightmares resurrecting, nightmares that had been haunting her for the past year. But in that same instant they vanished, because she had an epiphany. There was a solution, a way to banish the demons for good.

And all it took was a single phone call.

With shaking hands, she picked up her cell phone and dialed a familiar number. "Pick up, pick up, pick up," she whispered.

At last he did. "'Chelle?"

"Hey, little man," she said, her cheery voice sounding foreign to her. "I…I've thought about what you said. If it's okay, I'd like to go with you to New York…"

* * *

_**A/N: So…how was it? Kindly drop some feedback, please. Much love!**_


	16. Every Man For Himself

_**A/N: Big ups to KnowYourRoleBoulevard, SHUTUPPORTER, SLSheartsRKO and the anonymous reviewer for reviewing the last chapter. Much appreciated. A part of this chapter is a stab at certain former WWE stalwarts who bailed to TNA at the beginning of 2010 and ended up providing approximately ZERO quality to the show. *cough Immortal cough Fortune cough cough*. It's just my opinion of course. Anyway, enjoy c.16 and please review!**_

_**

* * *

Every Man For Himself**_

Never before had a meeting of the Mafia Families been organized so quickly. And never before had the proceedings been this hostile.

In a sensational twist to the already compelling drama, the twelve-man jury in the Eric Bischoff case had unanimously decided to clear him of all charges. He was now a free man, at liberty to do whatever he wanted. And anybody who thought he was going to lay low would be deceiving themselves.

The Families were all represented by their Heads at this crunch meeting; Dons Mick Foley, Hulk Hogan and Ric Flair. They congregated inside Don McMahon's conference room, along with Jim Ross. Don Jeffrey Jarrett, whom the other Families had never had a comfortable relationship to begin with, declined to attend. Through a written letter – which was already a "fuck you" in itself – he officially severed his ties with the McMahons and aligned himself with Bischoff.

Hulk, sitting across from Vincent, was first to speak, going straight to business. "Godfather, we want to know what we are going to do about that."

Mick Foley had his beady eyes fixed upon him. Ric Flair, usually boisterous and outspoken, remained silent. He had an almost pained expression on his face as he stared at the table in front of him. Vincent looked round at the three men before commenting on the letter. "Well, from the looks of this letter, Don Jarrett knew what he wanted to do a long time ago," he said. "I doubt that we can do or say anything that will change his mind."

"But you do understand that he's now protecting Eric Bischoff, right?" said Hogan. "Jarrett has always had ties to Bischoff and that never changed in seventeen years. His resources will allow Bischoff to come after all of us, in one form or the other. Now, you are quite aware that all of us sitting around this table will have to work together to make sure that he is kept at bay."

"I understand that, Hulk." Vincent shook his head.

"We are associates, Vince, and I just want to protect my assets, just like you plan to," Hulk continued slowly.

"But you refuse to help us do so!" Flair spat unexpectedly, startling Hogan. "Stop beating around the bush, Hulk!"

Hogan stared at him, astonished. But Foley didn't flinch, and neither did Vince. "You know that is not true, Ric," he said evenly.

"Seventeen years ago when Bischoff went on the run, you systematically sucked him dry," Ric interrupted callously. "You left almost nothing for us but we were fine. We lived and operated in peace and with no threat in sight. But now that we have one, you refuse to offer protection? A refusal is not the act of a friend. If Don McMahon had all the Judges, and the Police force and the politicians in Connecticut, then he must share them, let the rest of us use them!"

"Does he still?" Don Foley spoke for the first time, his tone accusing as he looked over at Vincent, "after everything that happened with Judge Layfield and the jury's verdict, do you really think he still has the loyalty of some of those men?"

JR sent him a withering look. Ric still had his attention on the McMahon Patriarch. "The time to be selfish is over, Vince. A war is impending. You want us to pay you for your services? Fine, we pay. We are the Mafia. Communism is not in our make. But this has gone on for too long. If you don't help us, then we suggest you move your men out of our territories, and we will do the same with ours."

Hulk and Foley showed approval at Flair's demands. Vince exchanged glances with JR, who then spoke. "There are negotiations being made that are going to answer all of your questions and solve all of your problems," he said. "That's all that we can tell you right now."

If looks could kill JR would have been lying dead on the floor thanks to Flair, but the Consigliore stood his ground. He and Vince knew exactly why they were all threatening to pull out, and it wasn't because of their lack of resources or the Godfather's "selfishness" that they so claimed. Admittedly, the McMahons were the most powerful of the Families, but the others still had more than enough to tackle any threat. Like Jarrett, they were all making way for Eric Bischoff, and every man in that room knew it. Of course, the McMahons' plans to branch out to New York were still in progress and judging from this meeting alone, revealing any plans to the Families would have been disastrous.

Vince had to some extent, seen all of this coming. They had expected him to panic following Bischoff's acquittal and were now trying to force his hand in taking action. But he knew what to do and when to strike. And he definitely wasn't going to be put under pressure by these three.

"Gentlemen," he said diplomatically, "like you, we are all aware of what is going on. I have never been one to turn anybody away when they are need, especially not people I consider to be my friends. This is not going to change anytime soon. You know you can come to me any day, as my children and I can come to you. But I beg for your patience. Work with me, and in time, we will all get everything we want."

He looked at all of them, waiting for their stony expressions to thaw before smiling. "Now drink. This is the best grape wine from all of North Carolina, and I'd appreciate it if you shared it with me."

Half an hour later, Koslov and Khali escorted the Family heads out of the conference room. Shane, Dave and John filed into the room a few moments later. JR had kept them abreast of the situation, and they all had an idea of what had been said at the meeting.

"What are you going to do about them, Father?" asked Dave, having seen Foley, Hogan and Flair depart from the premises with smug looks on their faces.

"Nothing. Nothing dangerous, anyway. They are free to do whatever they want," said Vince, sipping on his water.

"You can't just let them walk away," said John, astounded, "what if they do go to Bischoff?"

"They are not the only allies we have, if I may remind you, John," said Jim. "Surely we will survive without them. Besides, if they move to Bischoff they're never going to be free. And we won't have had anything to do with it."

Shane agreed, his ever-active mind at work again. "We know that Bischoff is going to screw them over sooner or later, but before he does, we'll have taken a huge slice of the pie. At least, we hope so." He turned to the youngest man in the room. "Johnny Boy. You know all of the best men in those Families, right?"

"Each and every one of them," John answered, "Chris Daniels, Frankie Kazarian, Shelley and Sabin, Harris and Storm…"

"Good. Recruit them all. You know how to talk to them and they'll listen to you. Make them offers they can't refuse." _(I know, that was soooo cheesy. Won't do it again I promise :D – BRM-UK)_

John nodded, furiously tapping the buttons on his phone. "No problem."

"How long do you think you'll need to do that?" asked Shane.

"About a month. Oh, make that a month and a half."

Shane furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Why?"

John had a malicious grin on his face. "To find a place big enough to hide Heyman's fat ass." Paul Heyman had been the first to "congratulate" Vince and his family on Bischoff's acquittal, a disrespectful act that the youngest McMahon was determined to see that the fat-ass middleman did not live to even contemplate regretting.

Laughter erupted in the room, only dissipating when JR spoke. "Dave, you'll beef up the security, especially for your father and your wives. Business must go on as normal. The last thing we want is for anybody to think we're running' scared."

"But if you ask me, Johnny Boy," said Dave, "I think Hulk's just mad because you didn't hook up with his daughter, Brooke."

"Hell no!" John scoffed, making a disgusted face. "I ain't _never_ hookin' up with her. I've been with a lot of hos, but that girl? She's a _ho_. Been around the block more times than me, and that's sayin' somethin'."

His brothers laughed as they exited the room. As the door shut behind them, Vince said, in a low voice. "Care to share what's on your mind, JR?"

Jim gazed at Vince, fighting the urge to smile. His old friend knew him so well. "Two guys paid me a visit a few days ago," he started, slipping into the huge leather seat beside his Boss.

The look on the face of his Consigliore perked the Don's interest. "Who?"

"The two brothers, Rosey and Jamal."

Vince abruptly ceased stroking his chin. They had been busy trying to pin down Bischoff that they had almost forgotten about the two men who actually fired the bullets that killed Adam. Both men had been released from their long spells in prison within days of each other a few weeks ago. Funny how seventeen years just flew by when one was hell-bent on seeking vengeance.

"They spoke to me," Jim continued, unable to stop his hands from trembling as he reminisced. "They…they threatened me. Only the Good Lord knows what they would have done to my son if they saw him-"

"Oh yes, your boy!" Vince suddenly interrupted, smiling. "It's terrible of me that I've only ever seen that boy once. He must be all grown up now. Randy, is it? How old is he?"

Whether he had deliberately swerved the conversation to fall on a lighter note or was genuinely interested in Randy's welfare, JR did not know. For as long and as closely as he had known Vincent McMahon there were still segments of his brain that he never let anybody have access to. But he had no intention of questioning it. He needed to be patient if he was going to get a straight answer as to how exactly he was going to protect his son. "Seventeen," he answered, pride impulsively creeping into his voice.

"Hmm, interesting," Vince mused. "Not a boy, but not quite yet a man. That has always been a tricky stage in anybody's life."

At any other time, JR would have been all for Vincent's philosophical musings. But not today, when he was worrying about the safety of his adopted son.

"I am very aware that I have not given you as much time as you are entitled to with your son. Maybe it's time that I did. He has to be top of your priorities now."

"It seems a bit late for that, Vince." When his Boss sent him a questioning look, he bowed his head slightly. "He and I...we're not exactly on speaking terms. He is not happy with me."

The McMahon patriarch frowned. "There's nothing that can't be fixed, Jim."

But JR shook his head. "I said some things to him that I will probably regret for the rest of my life," he surmised remorsefully.

"Then make amends immediately," Vince advised. "In this life, no one knows when theirs will come to an end. In the type of business we are involved in, unfortunately, there is much less time allocated to that estimation."

"He wants to wrestle, Vince!" JR blurted out. "I don't know if I can let him. I'm not ready for him to join that life yet; traveling everyday for the rest of his youth; the burnout." He sighed deeply. He couldn't even bring himself to mention the injuries and possible lifelong dependency on painkillers as a result. "I don't want him to be disappointed with the reality. He has worked so hard to get to where he is."

Vincent leaned back in his huge chair. "We all face disappointments, Jim. If we don't fall down, how will we learn to get back up? I'm sure he's even tougher than you make him out to be. And for him to have been accepted into the AWA, he must be highly talented."

In all honesty, JR truly did not know. After all, he hadn't realized Randy was even wrestling until he had discovered the completed AWA form. "But Vince…" JR tried to argue.

"Would you rather he joined _us_?" Vince asked, causing JR's eyes to widen. "Would you rather he was introduced into this life we lead?"

Taking in those ominous words, JR shook his head slowly, refusing to meet Vince's eyes. "Listen," said Vince, "I will do everything in my power to make sure that Randy is out of harm's way for as long as you want me to. We'll be in New York now; we'll protect him. He won't even have to know we're there. Take the week off. Accompany him to New York. Show your support. That is all the boy is asking for. Surely, you won't deny something so simple. After all, you had dreams of making it between the ropes. Fate had other plans for you, to become the best ring announcer the world has ever seen, and possibly to relive our other dream through your son's eyes. I suggest you take that chance."

Jim kept his head down, realizing how true the Don was. Vince could see it too. Leaning forward, he put a hand upon JR's shoulder and squeezed it, a gesture that he made only to people he trusted. "You're not going to lose him, Jim. Now you make sure he knows that he's not going to lose you."

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_**A/N: For the record, Brooke Hogan is NOT a ho. At least I don't think. I was just spicing up the story. Please don't sue, just review! Thank you!**_

_**I hope you liked this chapter. And by the way, the next few chapters are going to open up the story in a big way. That's all I can say. Peace! BRM-UK**_


	17. Say What You Need To Say

_**A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR! Much love to **__**Mattaggot**__**, SLSheartsRKO, **__**i luv hardy**__**, DashingMrsRhodes and **__**AttitudeQueen5287**__** for reviewing the last chapter. I begin the year 2011 with what I hope will be a very enjoyable read for you. Enjoy chapter 17 and please review!**_

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Say What You Need To Say**_

"I can't do this, Michelle."

"For Pete's sake, how many times have we gone through this?" Michelle argued, frustrated. She'd spent practically the entire evening chasing her boyfriend around _JR's Inn_, trying to convince him to stay back and wait for Jim so they could reconcile and was going nowhere with it.

"He's still not here. Maybe he's not coming tonight. I told you he doesn't want to see me," Randy added hopefully.

The blonde waitress rolled her eyes at his lame excuse. They both knew that JR wasn't expected back at the Inn for another hour. Randy had always said though, that he'd never been great with apologies. Sorry, that had to change tonight, whether he liked it or not. "Quit being such a baby. He'll be here."

"I'm not talking to him."

"But you promised!"

"I've changed my mind."

"You can't just 'change your mind'," said Michelle, following him around as he went about turning the chairs upside down and setting them on top of the tables. "That was part of our deal; me coming with you to New York in exchange for saying sorry to JR! Remember?"

Sighing deeply, Randy shook his head. "Look, baby…I really don't think it's a good idea. We said some terrible things to each other. He's not going to forgive me anytime soon. I think it's best if we just get outta here tomorrow and forget any of it ever happened. Case closed."

Michelle stared at her boyfriend, her expression bordering on furious. "Randy-"

"Look, just _drop it_, okay?" His voice was harsh as he turned around abruptly, startling her.

"Don't talk to her like that!"

Jack emerged from the storage room, and Michelle groaned softly, pressing a palm to her forehead. "Why don't you back off, Ross, and show the lady some respect?" said Jack, scowling deeply.

Randy turned to his girlfriend. "Is this fool talking to _me_?"

An audible snarl sounded from Jack as he lunged towards Randy, but Michelle rushed in between them before any physicality could occur, planting a hand on each boy's chest. "_Stop it_, both of you!" she commanded.

"You know what, I'm so fucking _sick_ of you disrespecting me!" Jack yelled, pointing over Michelle's shoulder at Randy, who had a hand raised, beckoning at his colleague. "How 'bout you come over here and do somethin' 'bout it?" the dark-haired teenager taunted.

"I said, stop it!" Michelle pushed Randy further away, then turning to Jack, said, "Go home, Jack."

"But-" he began to argue, but his voice faded abruptly when Michelle thrust her face into his. "Go home. Now!"

For a moment he stood there, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Shooting one last insolent glance in Randy's direction, he trudged petulantly across the bar and out the front door.

Michelle whirled back around just in time to catch Randy sniggering behind her back. "You think that's funny?"

"What?" he giggled wickedly, "That was fuckin' hilarious."

"Now you know why I call you little man, you can be so immature sometimes. And if you think I'm just going to forget about this dumbass decision of yours then you're mistaken. So you're just going to leave town without even saying goodbye to JR?"

He shrugged. "Like he'll care."

"Trust me, Randy, when I say that you'll regret it."

"I'll take my chances." Returning to the counter, Randy picked up a dishtowel and began to clean some glasses. Michelle leaned on the counter, staring pointedly at him. Randy ignored her scrutinizing gaze, immersing himself in the cleaning. He didn't need to look at her to tell that she wanted to say more to him. And she did. In fact, her next words were nothing short of a bombshell.

"Fine. If you don't try to patch things up with JR I'm not having sex with you for a month."

A cunning smile spread across her face when Randy's head snapped up to gape at her. Now she had his attention. "Yes. I went there."

"You wouldn't," he challenged with narrowed eyes. She held his gaze without flinching. "Try me. You're being stupid, for crying out loud. Stop pretending like it won't hurt you if you never speak to him again."

Randy opened his mouth to reply when the sound of a car pulling up to the Inn interrupted him. His eyes widened in panic when he saw that it was JR. Before Michelle realized it, Randy had abandoned the counter, moving swiftly towards the back door. But she caught up fast enough, materializing in front of him before he could take another step. "What are you doing?" he cried.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're not going anywhere."

Letting out a heavy sigh, Randy looked down and pinched at the bridge of his nose, something Michelle had known him to do when he was trying to curb his temper. "Michelle, let me through," he said, his tone controlled and even.

"Hey!" She had had enough of his childishness. She jabbed a finger into his broad chest. "You listen up, and listen up good, Orton. You're going to do this whether you like it or not, so you better man up, go out there, and talk to him!"

A small, grating cough interrupted them. Randy and Michelle turned, almost in perfect unison, his insides lurching sickeningly with dread as his blue eyes fell upon JR. The McMahon Consigliore looked back and forth between the two teenagers, his own expression as nervous as theirs as he twirled his black cowboy hat in his hands. "Could you excuse us for a minute, Michelle?" he asked gently.

"Certainly." Michelle gently squeezed her boyfriend's hand for reassurance before disappearing outside, leaving the two stubborn men to stare dumbly at each other from their vantage points on opposite ends of the bar. The tension was so thick it felt like it had filled that distance between them. Feeling suffocated by the silence, Randy leaned against the wall, jamming his hands into his pockets and refusing to make eye contact with JR. Understanding that they would probably be here all night if he waited for Randy to break the ice, JR took the initiative. "When do you leave for New York?" he said, hoping for a non-hostile answer.

"Tomorrow afternoon," Randy replied, still not looking up.

Okay. The first hurdle was cleared, but JR was now at a loss for what to do next. Everything he wanted to say had disappeared from his brain. His mother, God rest her soul, had always taught him that wherever the brain failed, go with the heart. And JR was willing to speak from his.

"You know, my wife and I…we were never able to have any children; cancer had ravaged her from an early age. It never gave her a break; it was relapse after relapse after relapse until it was ultimately terminal. But she hung on, determined to live life to the fullest, and the first item on her list was adopting a child."

Randy's head shot up the moment JR started talking. He hardly ever spoke about his wife, so this had to be really difficult for him. He decided to swallow his pride and listen.

"I remember the first time my wife and I walked into the orphanage the day we brought you home," JR went on, a small smile climbing his features. "She was the one who spotted you, you know. You had all this hair on your head and these long arms and legs, and without a doubt, the best pair of lungs of all the babies. You were screaming down the whole damn place like a diva."

Randy couldn't prevent the chuckle that escaped him at this funny description of his infant self. "But it was your eyes that captivated her," said JR. "The way you looked at her, she told me that night; it was like you were looking into her soul. She truly believed that you belonged with us, and even at your tender age, you thought we belonged with you. She's always had this knack for being right about things anyway. But unfortunately, she didn't even last a year after you came. The cancer finally took her, after all those years."

The tears began to materialize in his voice. "Right before she passed, she made me promise to protect you. You were our one and only chance of ever having children, and even though she had learned to accept my being involved with the Mafia and wrestling, she didn't want you going down the same path as me or any of her deceased brothers, and we both agreed to it. It was her last dying wish and I was hell-bent on honoring it. I didn't mean to be so imposing on you. It was wrong."

"No it wasn't," said Randy, speaking for the first time. "You were looking out for me, and though I had a dumb way of showing it, I appreciate it."

JR paused to take a deep, shaking breath. It was then that Randy realized how near to each other they were. "I never told you the other reason I was so scared of letting you go, Randy. I was afraid that if you went out there and found your real parents, you might not want to see me anymore…"

Whatever malice Randy still held in his heart shattered away at those words. "I could_ never_ leave you, JR, not after everything you've done for me. I'd be lying if I said I never thought about finding out who my parents were." He trailed off momentarily, touching the crucifix on the base of his neck. "I do, but I want that to come in my own time. Wrestling is what I want to concentrate on. I can't just walk away from you like that. You raised me better than that."

Pushing himself off the wall, he approached JR slowly, with tentative, almost hopeful steps. "No matter what, whether I ever find them or not…you'll always be my father, Jim."

JR swallowed, not taking his eyes off the boy who had somehow, right under his nose, developed into such a strong, determined man. "This wrestling thing…if this is what you want…what you _really_ want…"

Randy held his adoptive father's gaze, nodding slowly but resolutely. "It is."

"Then I'll take you to New York myself."

The elation that swelled within the young man threatened to overwhelm him. He struggled to keep his emotions under control. "That would be nice, thank you," he said sincerely.

Suddenly, they came together in a long, drawn-out hug. When they pulled back, both men were fighting tears. "I want you home for Christmas, boy," said JR, attempting to keep his tone serious, "every holiday, in fact, if you can manage it."

Randy laughed, more out of relief than anything else. "I'll try."

"I love you, Randy," said JR, "you're my son, and you always will be. Never ever think otherwise."

For fear that he would burst into tears if he opened his mouth, Randy simply nodded. With a smile, JR patted the teenager's back before leaving him to himself.

Michelle reappeared moments later, her blue eyes hopeful. "Well, how did it go?"

He shrugged nonchalantly but his broad smile gave him away, and he burst into laughter when Michelle squealed with delight and launched herself at him. "See?" she said, "don't you feel better now? You're a knucklehead, but I'm proud of you."

"I'm _your_ knucklehead, babe," Randy's smile grew even wider, his blue eyes glinting mischievously. "So I guess you're taking back your 'no sex for a month' threat, right?"

"Did I mention you're a _horny_ knucklehead?" Michelle replied, running her hand through his hair.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Michelle shrieked as Randy scooped her into his arms and carried her upstairs to his bedroom.

* * *

The next day came, and Randy could barely contain his excitement. In about six hours, he would be leaving this old dusty town to pursue his lifelong dream in the big city. It would be a bittersweet moment no doubt, but one he would relish. Today was going to be a day he would never forget.

He breezed around the bar for the final time, soaking in the congratulations and the good lucks and final farewells from the patrons, making sure that nobody was left unattended to. He even gave a very happy Scott Hall a round of whiskey shots on the house. When Michelle entered the kitchen with a stack of emptied plates, Randy took them from her, dumped them in the sink and pulled her to him for a kiss. He was so happy. He was going to live his dream; he had a supportive parent, and a smart, sweet, beautiful girlfriend that he loved deeply. Now getting her to say those words back was another thing, but not to worry. He would get it out of her soon enough. They had time.

"Well, someone's happy today," Michelle said breathlessly, licking her lips as she ran her hands down his chest. "You know we're not done working yet."

Randy smiled widely, placing his hands on her hips. His excitement was rather infectious. "And I can't wait so we can get out of here," he told her, holding her close. Suddenly she broke out of his grasp, clicking her fingers. "Oh snap! I left the milk outside!" she said, referring to the goods that had been delivered to the Inn _two_ hours ago.

"What? _All _of it?" Both of Randy's eyebrows shot upwards when she winced apologetically. "Sorry! I just forgot. How am I supposed to remember anything when you keep distracting me?"

"Oh, blame it on me now, will you?" he griped as she dashed out the back door to retrieve the milk, hoping they hadn't gone sour in the hot sun. He returned to the counter to serve more customers. He looked over at JR talking to Booker T and Rob Van Dam, and as if feeling his adopted son's eyes on him, he turned and flashed Randy a thumbs up. Yep, today was going to be a fantastic day.

But the next few seconds would change _everything_.

Two men walked into the bar. Nobody paid heed to them, until they whipped their Uzis out from underneath their trench coats and opened fire. But by then they were all too late. The men sprayed everyone and everything inside the bar with lightning speed, bullets tearing relentlessly into helpless men and women. The loud, deadly sound of gunfire seemed to go on and on and on.

And then there was silence.

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_**Chapter title taken from the song Say, by John Mayer.**_

_**A/N: I've never had any personal experiences relating to cancer, but from everything I've read and heard, it's a mini-hell, given how unpredictable it can be. Some people survive it, others don't, which to me is heartbreaking. I want to dedicate this chapter to people suffering from the disease, and to the people who are working tirelessly to find a cure.**_

_**A/A/N: There you have it. My first post of 2011. 2010 was a fantastic year for me both professionally and personally. I also got three new stories up and running on after such a long hiatus; Bullseye, Come What May and I Choose to Fight, all of which were received with more success than I could have dreamed of, and I am very grateful to everyone who took time to read, alert, favorite and review all of my stories throughout last year. I hope you continue as they genuinely encourage me to keep on writing. There are more stories in the works and hopefully I'll put them all up soon. Here's wishing all my fellow authors and readers a smashing 2011. Peace! **_


	18. Restless Fire Never Dies

_**A/N: Much love to i luv hardy, Mattaggot, SLSheartsRKO, BellaEveMaryseFan, Tiffyxox and Sonib89 for reviewing. You have NO idea just how happy I am with the feedback.**_

_**By the way, a reader asked who Jay/Jason was. Just to clarify, Christian's real name is Jay Reso, and he and Adam/Edge are supposed to be twins in this story. I hope that cleared up your confusion. Since my birthday is this weekend (Feb 26th) I decided to drop this tasty treat for you all. With that being said, here's chapter 18. Oh, and this chapter contains sexual content ;)**_

_**Read, enjoy, and review!**_

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_**Restless Fire Never Dies**_

Something was wrong. But Lita couldn't figure out what.

From morning all the way to this evening, there was this sense of foreboding that she couldn't shake off. It followed her around all day, and it was very unnerving because she just didn't know why she felt this way. It wasn't the kids. They were fine. Amelia slept all day, while baby Adam cried at every chance he got. It was as if he could sense his mother's distress. Once again, Lita paced up and down, cooing him gently. His crying even sounded strange to her ears, like he could tell what was bothering her but could not communicate it.

It wasn't Jay either. She called him once every hour and he was fine. He was off at another meeting somewhere. She'd voiced her worry to him, and he promised her that everything was fine. Figuring that maybe she was just being paranoid, she pushed the feelings aside. Maybe it was just her motherly instinct kicking in. finally, Adam calmed down, and Lita put him in his crib so he could sleep. As she left the nursery she found herself thinking about her husband, wondering how he was doing. She knew he always missed her the way she missed him, but she always needed that reassurance from him, you know?

When her relationship with Jay became serious, she knew she had to step up in a _lot_ of departments. Among these was her education. After quitting wrestling, she went to school and got herself a GED. She would shack herself inside the vast library of Chris's home and read up on as much as she could get her hands on. Each day she could feel herself grow more and more empowered. She hadn't been given the world-class schooling that the likes of Trish or Maria or Stephanie received, but Lita worked herself hard. She tried to learn as much as she could from her in-laws and she observed Shane McMahon closely in particular, meeting him for advice, trying to figure out how his mind worked. After all, he was to become the new Don of the McMahon family soon. She knew that if she could bear any form of similarity to him at all, she would be a much better person.

Another important area Lita worked on was their sex life. She and Jay had never had a problem with that, but the need to spice it up every now and then was very necessary. However, it had been a while since she and Jay got intimate, no thanks to her pregnancy and subsequent birth. During that period Jay had done his best to stay at home more often and be there for her, and after the kids were born she allowed him to resume his traveling duties. But as time went by she wondered if that had been a bad decision. She missed him every time he was gone, like now. When he did return, he was usually too tired to do anything. For a while she suspected that he was cheating on her but Stephanie had promised her that that was not the case. She trusted Stephanie and so took her word for it. But Lita knew that she had to do something before he began to enjoy his trips away from home.

And so she began her quest. She began working out regularly to get rid of the baby weight with yoga and Pilates, and recruited Trish to draw up a diet plan for her. Then, with the help of resident shopaholic Melina, she stocked up on sex toys and the sexiest lingerie she could find at Victoria's Secret. She spared no expense; another luxury she had picked up from being a McMahon.

That was okay, as long as it helped her end this drought. And she planned on ending it tonight, whether Jay was in the mood for it or not.

* * *

Jay McMahon's routine when he got home was relatively familiar. He would first go looking for his children, and then have dinner in the lounge upstairs before retreating to the master bedroom for some well-deserved sleep. Today would be no different.

"Lita?" he called into the room softly, shutting the door behind him. She'd rushed off in a hurry after dinner. He hoped she was okay.

"Hey, Daddy."

Turning his gaze towards the bathroom, Jay did a double take, his eyes widening at the fully took in the sight of his wife. "Whoa…" he breathed.

Lita leaned against the door frame, the skimpy silk dressing gown she was wearing flapping open to flaunt more of her smooth, bare legs. She advanced towards her husband slyly, seductively, enjoying the stunned look on his face. With a quick toss of her brilliant red hair, she untied her robe and shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor around her ankles. Jay gawked, his briefcase slipping out of his grasp and hitting the ground with a dull thud.

Lita placed her hands on her hips, showing off her slender figure which was clad in a lacy black and red bra and thong set. The workout was evidently paying off as her body looked absolutely incredible. "I was just thinking, you know," she said, fixing a stare at Jay, who remained standing by the door, speechless. "You've been so busy lately, and I figured I could help you relax tonight with a…_meeting_…of our own." Making sure to keep a little distance between them, she pressed her hands against his chest and slid them down to undo the buttons on his shirt. "So how about it?"

She should have known the answer from the way his eyes darkened with desire. "Come here," Jay growled. It definitely was not a gentle request. His hands snaked around her butt and thighs and lifted her up. Wrapping her legs around his waist Lita leaned down, meeting his lips in a rough, passionate kiss, clasping his face in her hands as he blindly staggered over to their king-size bed and laid her on it. They stared at each other, both breathing heavily. As far as they were both concerned, this was long overdue.

"I like these," Jay commented, running his hand up her legs and settling them on her underwear. He let his fingertips gently run across the thin fabric over her hip, playing with the red trimming of the panties. "You look great in them."

"Yeah?" she gasped, wishing they could start already.

"Yeah," he smirked. He could sense her impatience, but he was going to make her wait just a little longer. "But you'll look better _out of them_."

He didn't take his eyes off her as he peeled off the panties, sliding the undergarment down her thighs. He dragged his fingers along her smooth skin as he did so, making her sigh with pleasure. Lita reached up to caress his cheek, and Jay responded by kissing each of her fingertip. He pulled her gently by her legs so that they hung down over the bed. Lita watched, her breathing getting heavier as he knelt down on the floor in front of her. He smoothed his hands over her tanned skin, over her soft thighs, dipping into gentle curves of flesh and down between her legs. Then he lowered his head, biting her softly down there. Lita's breath hitched, and her hips bucked, her hands moving down to hold his head in place. Jay licked her moist folds before kissing them, doing so the way he would kiss her lips. He could feel the heat from her thighs on his cheeks as he continued kissing her, darting his tongue in and out of her crevice. Her whimpers turned him on to no end. Holding her thighs in place he sucked harder, licked deeper, taking as much of his wife as he could.

"Oh…oh God," Lita whined and her hips rose up from the bed. "Shit…Jay! Oh-" Her body exploded before she could say anything else. Her back instinctively arched as the orgasm rocked her, her mouth popping open in a silent scream. Jay grinned widely, watching as the rapture swept across her face. But he wasn't done with her in the very least. He had to make up for lost time and he was determined not to let any moment go to waste. He moved up north, trailing his lips and tongue up her flat stomach and over her breasts, sucking on each of her nipples. Lita sighed again, digging her fingers into her husband's short hair. God, she had missed this _so_ much.

Jay stood up and removed his pants and climbed back on top of her. Lita leaned up and flicked out her tongue, running it over his lips before sliding it into his mouth. She could taste herself on his tongue, and that turned her on. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she kissed him deeply and started moving her hips, indicating that she wanted him inside of her.

He got the message loud and clear. Jay slid into her slowly, making them both moan out loud. It had been so long. Way too long. At first he started to move in her at a slow pace, but then the overwhelming urge to go deeper took over. He positioned himself better on top of her and increased his rhythm. "Lita…goddamn…" he moaned on ragged breath, his cheek pressed against her temple, now thrusting so hard that her body shifted on the bed. Lita's hands found his ass, pulling him deeper into her, his hard, delicious girth filling her up so tightly and nicely that it made her dizzy. God, Jason McMahon was incredible.

Getting on his knees, he took her legs and placed them on his shoulders, practically folding her up like an accordion. He resumed his thrusting, running his tongue along each side of her calves, knowing how much she liked it. He took in the way her hair clung to her face, the way her lips parted, gasping as she gave in to the ecstasy, her beautiful hazel eyes misty with lust and desire. She was so sexy, so amazing. And she was his and his alone.

"Oh _God_," Lita groaned as he pounded into her, her groans of pleasure getting louder with each thrust. Her insides were on fire, the muscles within her squeezing tightly around him. She was close, any moment now. She opened heavily-lidded eyes and stared at him, and Lita nearly screamed with terror, her eyes widening, her brain trying to process what she was seeing.

Her husband was gone, replaced by another man pumping away on top of her; a _familiar-looking_ man. Jay's cerulean blue eyes had diluted to a soft emerald green, his chin a bit more prominent than usual, and the most telling, the most frightening of the changes; how his blond hair had drastically lengthened, seemingly within seconds…

_Adam_…

Again, the orgasm claimed her without warning, making her cry out; every part of her burning with the intensity of it. Her shudders barely subsided when she felt Jay's own release, followed by his slow withdrawal before he collapsed on the bed next to her, breathing heavily. Lita sat up, swinging her legs over the bed, and turned her back so he couldn't see the look of bewilderment – and possibly guilt – that she knew was still on her face. She put a shaking hand over her mouth. Her whole body was still trembling, partly from the exhilarating ride she'd just got off, and partly with horror at what she had just seen.

Or what she _thought_ she had seen.

She dared herself to turn back around and look, just to make sure. So she did, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw her husband lying there, wearing nothing but a goofy smile. But goodness, it had been so _real_; she could still see those eyes; that face. Goosebumps sprouted all over her arms, and she shivered, hugging herself.

Jay's cell phone rang, tearing into Lita's thoughts; he didn't move an inch. She would have told him to answer the goddamn phone, but she wasn't even sure she could bring herself to speak. She was completely spooked by what had just happened to her.

The phone sounded off again, more shrilly this time. Sighing heavily, Jay fumbled blindly around his side table for the phone and then flicked it open. John. Only his asshole little brother would call at a time like this. "What?"

The silence that followed got Lita curious. She turned around to face him, and her face fell instantly. His skin, flushed just moments ago, had gone shockingly ashen. His eyes were glassed over, and he was gripping the phone so hard that his knuckles turned white. He continued to listen into the phone, staring straight ahead, and finally, he swallowed hard, the first sign of movement from him in a long time. "Yeah…I'll be right over." He clicked his phone shut and leapt out of the bed with lightning speed.

"Honey?" Lita asked, all thoughts of her own problem disappearing. "Honey, what's wrong?"

She watched with growing alarm as he picked up his clothes and began hastily throwing them on, as if she wasn't even in the room. His back was turned to her, but she swore she could hear him crying. "Baby?" she tried again, standing up from the bed and moving cautiously towards him. The dread she'd been feeling all day slowly returned. "Jay, what is it?"

But still he didn't answer her, and the dread gave way to frustration. "_Jason!_ What's going on?"

At last he turned, regarding her as if seeing her for the first time. Tears streamed down his face. He opened his mouth to speak, and the tone of his voice made her blood run cold.

"It's JR…"

* * *

_**A/N: Creepy, wasn't it? I did my very best to make sure that this chapter didn't look like a filler. I hope I succeeded. The juicy bits of the story are coming up from the next chapter, so if you want to find out what happens next, please review, and I promise you will NOT be disappointed. Peace, y'all! - BRM-UK.**_


	19. Disappear

_**A/N: Hope y'all enjoyed Easter. I sure did. This is definitely my final post for the month of April, and I'm quite proud of the fact that I was able to update all my stories in the same month. Go me! :D**_

_**Thank you DaLiz13, i luv hardy, SLSheartsRKO, Tiffyxox, Sonib89, Miztastic and Miss Elixir for your reviews. You guys are awesome. This is quite an emotional chapter, so get the tissues out! LOL.**_

_**Enjoy guys, and please review.**_

* * *

_**Chapter 19**_

_**Disappear**_

For a moment, Randy thought he was dead.

As he lay on the ground behind the counter, covered in shattered glass and spilled liquid, there was a detachment about him, an ethereal sensation that left him feeling like his soul had parted ways with his body and was now floating among the fragments of the afterlife. As he slowly came to however, and his five senses began to function again, that grim theory was abruptly dispelled.

He was alive. And it was a huge relief.

He wasn't even sure what exactly had happened, or how it happened. All he could remember was the awful, noisy barrage of gunshots, and the moment they rang out he had dropped down to the ground faster than he had ever given himself credit for. But the shooters had also aimed in his direction; all the bottles on the shelves behind the counter had shattered in the process, descending over him like rainfall. His panicked yelling could not be heard over the fracas which seemed to go on forever. Finally it stopped, giving way to deathly silence. The scent of gunshot residue was thick and hung in the air. Through the terror of it all, Randy's subconscious managed to decipher that the shooters had to have fired at least two hundred rounds.

He remained motionless, pretending to be dead. He was terrified. He could sense the shooters moving around, waiting for someone to move so they could finish the job. After what felt like an eternity, he heard them leave, their rapid footsteps fading as they abandoned the Inn.

When he was certain that the coast was clear, Randy summoned enough strength to lift himself to his knees. He crawled out from behind the counter, grimacing as pieces of glass cut into his skin. The front of the counter was riddled with bullet holes, hitting the message home for Randy. Surely, had he not been hiding behind the strong oak structure, he would be dead. He tried to gather his bearings as he looked around to survey the Inn. His heart dropped.

It was carnage. There were bodies everywhere, none of them moving. JR's Inn, which bubbled with life only seconds ago, now bore the stench of blood and death. What had occurred here was nothing less than a brutal massacre, the likes of which this small community had never seen or would ever see again.

Randy crawled on, past all those dead people, lifeless eyes staring back at him. He glanced to his left and found Jack Swagger sprawled beside him, the left side of his head blown away. Randy winced with disgust and turned away, gulping hard to force the bile back down. He considered calling the police as his gaze continued to scan the bar, but as his eyes falling upon a familiar figure, everything in his brain simply shut down.

Across the room, JR lay on his back, the front of his white shirt soaked in blood. The sight shook Randy to his very core.

"JR!" He scrambled to his feet, stumbling over the bodies of Booker and Rob, among others, nearly slipping on the blood-stained floor to get to his foster father. The Consigliore, miraculously, was still breathing, but two bullet holes gaped from his chest and his sweaty face was a sickly shade of white. His chest heaved up and down in short, labored pants. It was an image the teenager would never forget. Tears ran down his face. "Oh God, you've been shot," he sobbed, gently cradling Jim's head.

Jim looked up at him, lifting a bloody hand to grip his adopted son's shirt. Who would have ever guessed, the first time Randy's tiny hand wrapped around Jim's finger all those years ago, that the roles would one day be reversed, with the father clinging to his son for dear life? "Son…" he wheezed. "Stay with me."

Randy grasped Jim's hand, squeezing it tightly. "I'm right here, JR. I'm not going anywhere. Don't worry. You're gonna be okay! You…" His voice cracked. "You're gonna be fine…"

But they both knew it was a lie. Jim was in very bad shape. His blood began to pool around Randy. "Randy…" he whispered, but that was all he could get out. Exhaling softly, he slumped against Randy. His eyes fluttered shut, then he went still, his grip on Randy's shirt relaxing.

Randy gaped at him in horror. "J-JR?" He shook him hard. "JR! Wake up. _Wake up!_"

But JR didn't move, and at that moment Randy felt his world collapse around him. "No, no, no, no…oh God no! JR, wake up! Wake up! Please!" He shook JR more aggressively, his tearful pleas growing louder, but Jim remained motionless. Letting out a strangled cry of anguish, Randy sat back and gathered JR into his arms, rocking back and forth as he wept bitterly. He wanted to die. He wanted to just lie there by Jim's side and never ever wake up. His heart was broken, and he never wanted it to mend. Jim Ross was dead and as far as Randy was concerned the world could have ended then and there.

How long he sat there crying for; whether seconds, hours, days; he neither knew nor cared. It was only the voice of someone trying to get his attention that pulled him out of his mournful trance. He raised his head, and three men stood there staring at him; one a tall, older man, and the other two, near-400-pounders that towered over the first man. They moved further inside the bar, carefully stepping over bodies. "Son, what happened here?" The first man, looking around the Inn with his mouth hanging open. On seeing JR's body, his eyes widened. "Oh my God, is that Jim Ross?"

"_Don't touch him!_" Randy snarled when the man approached, recoiling like a wounded animal. He tightened his hold around JR as he glowered at the stranger through swollen eyes. The man stepped back, putting his hands up. "Okay, okay. I've backed up." He glanced over at the two huge men, who also retreated. "Son, did you see who did this?"

"No."

The men exchanged glances before the first man spoke again. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I-I don't know," Randy shook his head, struggling to pick through his grief and think coherently. "All I remember was leaving the kitchen to come to the counter after Mi-" he trailed off with a gasp. "Oh my God! Michelle! Michelle, where are you?" The thought of his love being in danger was enough to shoot him to his feet. He moved too quickly, and his legs wobbled badly, forcing him to lean against the wall, but he struggled on, moving tenuously towards the back entrance, the last place he'd seen her. "Michelle? Baby?"

The stranger quickly rushed to his side, blocking his path. "Shh!" he hissed, his voice reduced to a whisper. "Don't do that! The people who did this could still be here."

"I don't care!" Randy argued. "My girlfriend is out there in harm's way! I need to find her like, right now!"

"Okay, okay," said the man. "I'll tell you what. I will go take a look. You said she was outside?" Randy nodded. "Alright. You stay here, okay?"

"But-" Randy began to protest.

"_Stay here!_" the man barked, startling the teenager. "Just stay. You, come with me." He beckoned at one of the burly men, and to the other one he said, "Stay with him. Let's find her."

Randy watched the two men make their way to the back, wishing he didn't feel so helpless.

* * *

In all the nineteen years she'd spent on this earth, Michelle had never felt so much pain.

She could barely even remember what happened. One minute she was holding a crate of milk in her hands, the next her ears were being bombarded with this almighty noise. Then she saw all those people inside the bar dropping like flies, their blood spraying everywhere as they were gunned down. She remembered trying to run because she had been standing right in the line of fire. But she obviously hadn't gotten very far. Now she was lying on her side on the ground, just outside the Inn, her body weak and in unbearable pain. A sharp, stinging sensation was sweeping through her, causing her extreme discomfort. It was an effort just moving. She looked down at herself and instantly realized the cause of her agony.

Blood poured steadily from the right side of her stomach, soaking her shirt and seeping through her hand as she pressed down on it to stem the blood flow. Taking in a deep, ragged breath of anticipation, she slowly opened up her palm. A choked cry escaped her lips as her worst fear was confirmed.

She'd been shot.

The bullet was not visible but she could feel it digging viciously into her side, gently tearing at the muscles within its range. Michelle knew that if she moved another inch, things could get very bad for her. But she had to. She had to somehow make it out of here if she was going to have any chance at survival.

Slowly, painfully, Michelle dragged herself away from the Inn, digging her elbow into the soft ground to aid her movement. She couldn't go back in there; for all she cared the shooters were still inside. She winced with every movement she made. Her side ached and her head was throbbing, the sound of all those bullets still ringing in her head. But she willed herself to continue; she could do it, she could do it-

"Michelle!"

She froze. She could have sworn that Randy had just called her name. It couldn't be right, could it? Nobody could have survived that onslaught, could they? Still, she stopped and listened, praying she wasn't hallucinating.

"Michelle, where are you?"

Oh God! He was alive! Randy was alive! She would have cried out with joy too if she wasn't seconds away from passing out. She was losing blood and her body contended with her will to stay awake. She wasn't sure she could go on.

"Michelle? Baby?"

Her mind was made up in that moment. Rejuvenated by the sound of her boyfriend's voice, she dug in deep, arching her body and making a U-turn. She crawled back towards the Inn with new-found determination. She heard footsteps, and thanked God once again. Randy was coming to help her. But when she looked up, her blue eyes grew wide with shock and her stomach plummeted down to her toes.

It wasn't Randy.

Instead, it was someone she never thought she would see again, someone she had hoped would be rotting in jail for the rest of his sorry life. The ghost of her past – a past that, just a few moments ago she was about to finally escape from with Randy – was now standing over her, in flesh and blood.

Her ex-boyfriend…in the loosest term of the word.

Putting his hands on his hips, the older man smiled down at her. "Well, well, well…look who we have here, Rosey."

He squatted down in front of her and smiled wickedly, his head tilted to the side as he observed her. She tried to scream but found that she couldn't; sound simply refused to emanate from her throat. She couldn't run; hell, she could barely even move. She could only watch helplessly as he taunted her, her eyes filling with tears.

"So, this is where you've been all this time," he smirked, his expression awash with the evil she'd borne witness to for years. "How long has it been? Two, three years? So you shacked up with Jim Ross and his punk kid. Smart, Mimi. Real smart."

She winced at the sound of the nickname he had bestowed upon her all those years ago, and her discomfort did not go unnoticed. "What's the matter? You don't like your name anymore? Are you _ashamed_ of your past? The kid said you were his _girlfriend_." He chuckled at the word, "I'm guessing he doesn't know about your days as a teenage prostitute. Of course not. If he knew you for the whore that you and I know you really are, I seriously doubt he'd have come anywhere near you. Isn't that right, Mimi?"

He extended a hand, caressing the side of her face. Michelle instantly flinched at his touch, turning her head away. _Where_ was Randy? Why wasn't he here trying to save her? He was still inside the Inn, he would have run into them; surely he would have recognized them and tried to stop them. But Michelle knew what this man was like; he was very persuasive. He would have already played his mind games on Randy and convinced him that he was only here to help. As the clock ticked by and Randy no-showed, she realized with despair that she was spot-on with her assumptions.

"You ungrateful little bitch," the man growled, "Did you really think you could run from me? _Hide_ from me? After what you did to me? I bet you were waiting for me to be locked up forever so you could go on your merry way. Well, _sorry _to disappoint you, darlin'. I told you that I'd find you no matter how long it took. No one betrays me and gets away with it. No one! And now you're going to pay."

Rising to his full height again, the man turned and walked away, but not before patting his hulking accomplice on the shoulder. "Make it clean," he instructed, his voice devoid of any emotion. He then disappeared back inside the Inn, preparing to deliver tragic news to the unsuspecting boy.

As the big man attached a silencer onto his revolver, Michelle thought about everything she ever cared about. She thought about her boyfriend, who had already fallen into the trap of the most evil, most dangerous man he would ever encounter. She prayed to God that he would be brave enough to walk away before it was too late.

At the sound of the gun clicking, Michelle shut her eyes tightly. _Randy…I love you._

Standing over her body, Rosey aimed at her throat and fired.

* * *

Randy's head shot up when the men returned. "Well? Where is she?" he demanded. "Where's Michelle?"

"Yes…tall? Blonde?" When Randy nodded, the older man bowed his head. "Uh, I'm sorry kid. She…she didn't make it."

Randy literally heard his heart shatter into pieces. His legs threatened to give way underneath him. "No! No!" he blurted, his voice growing more frantic. "You're lying. You're _fucking_ lying!"

"I'm not lying," the stranger insisted, putting on a sad face. "She was already dead when we got there-"

"I wanna see her."

"What?"

"I want to see her. I need to see it for myself." It had to be a mistake. It _had to_. She was only unconscious…not dead. Surely not dead. He broke out of the burly man's grasp but his sudden movement caused him to sway unsteadily. The big man grabbed him before he could fall over. "Let me go!" Randy yelled, struggling weakly. "I just wanna see her. Please!"

The man put his arms around the teenager in an effort to calm him and comfort him. "It's too late, son," he said softly, his voice laced with sadness. "There's nothing you can do for her. She's gone."

Overwhelmed by sorrow, and too weak to fight back, Randy broke down completely, bursting into fresh tears. Not her too…not his Michelle…

"Look, I am deeply sorry for your loss," the man went on, his tone sympathetic but urgent, "but we've got to get out of here."

Randy continued to cry, tears rolling down his cheeks in a silent stream, his handsome young face a mask of pain and misery. Over his head the two big men sent each other uncomfortable looks. Their leader clamped his hands down on Randy's shoulders. "Now I want you to listen carefully. You need to come with me, do you understand?" he asked. "We have to go now."

Sniffling, Randy looked up. "Go where?" he asked, his voice thick with tears, "I can't leave. This is my home."

"Not anymore," the man replied, "Whoever did this could come back anytime soon to finish the job. We can't risk leaving you here. You have to disappear. Do you understand me?"

The teenager hesitated for a moment before swallowing hard, giving a quick but firm nod. "Good," the stranger said. "You'll come with us now, okay? We'll take care of you."

The two bigger men stood on each side of Randy, leading him out of the Inn, with the smallest man following close behind. He stole a quick glance over his shoulder, his dark eyes sweeping over his handiwork one last time.

And liking what he saw, Eric Bischoff smiled.

* * *

_**A/N: Remember Jamal (Umaga) and Rosey from 3 Minute Warning, circa 2002/03? Yep, that's them in this chapter.  
**_

_**Please review! :D**_


	20. The Cracks in our Foundation

**_A/N: Yes, it's been a long while since I updated and I'm sorry. Thank you so much to _**_SLSheartsRKO, DaLiz13, AttitudeQueen5287, Sonib89, i luv hardy, Tiffyxox _**_and_**_ SHUTUPPORTER_ **_for the awesome reviews. I am truly humbled by the love for this story. Work is a bit hectic at the moment, but I'll do my best to churn out at least a chapter of one story every month._**

**_A reviewer asked to see the McMahon ladies once again. Well, here they are. Hope you enjoy chapter 20!_**

* * *

**_The Cracks in our Foundation_**

"So, I'm suggesting that the weekend after next, we round up all the ladies and take a trip to the day spa," Melina said. The McMahon wives were at Jay and Lita's residence, making preparations for Jim Ross's funeral which was coming up in a few days. The wives had jokingly pointed out that they spent more time at her place than their own homes. She didn't mind the company; it tended to get a little lonely in this big house.

Stacy paced in the kitchen, engaged in a heated discussion on her BlackBerry. Melina, Trish and Maria sat at the counter. Melina showed Trish a flyer as she kept speaking. "My friend owns Whitesands Spa," she said, "They do the best mud wraps you will ever have in your life."

Trish shook her head. "Sounds like fun, Mel, I don't think I'll be able to get off work for that."

Raising an eyebrow, Melina put a hand on her hip. "Really? You got patients on Saturdays?"

"Yes. It's a little girl with a broken ankle, and she's coming to replace her cast. I can't miss it."

Lita looked up from her rocking baby Adam's car seat and let her gaze sweep across the kitchen. Someone had been missing from their group for a while. "Hey, is Stephanie back from the bathroom yet?" she asked.

"No, I haven't seen her since she left, but I saw her go upstairs," Maria answered, gently bouncing Amelia in her slender arms. "Want me to go check on her?"

"No, stay with the baby. I'll go." Lita got to her feet and made her way upstairs to her bedroom, where she figured Stephanie would be. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, so she gently pushed in. It was eerily quiet. She hoped Stephanie was okay. "Steph?"

Her sister-in-law's back was turned to her as she stood in front of the sink, gripping the ceramic bowl so hard that her knuckles were white. But when the McMahon daughter's head shot up at the sound of her voice, their eyes met through the mirror, and what Lita saw made her gasp in shock.

The area surrounding Stephanie's left eye was dark and bruised. Even with the heavy makeup she had applied, Lita could see right through it. No one had noticed because Stephanie hadn't taken off her large sunglasses all morning. Until now. "Oh my God! What happened to your face?"

"Nothing." Stephanie quickly turned away, but she wasn't fast enough. Lita was already in front of her.

"_Nothing_?" she repeated in disbelief. As she inspected Stephanie's face she felt her anger rise, threatening to boil over the edge. This did not look like 'nothing'. The left side of Stephanie's face was practically swollen from what looked like a hand print. She locked angry, hazel eyes on her sister-in-law's. "Steph, did _Paul_ do this to you?"

"It's nothing, Lita. You wouldn't understand."

The redhead was incensed. "Stephanie, are you seriously going to stand there and-"

"Look, we got into a fight, okay?" Stephanie explained, looking anywhere but at Lita. "Last night, we were both drinking. We had this huge argument, and we came to blows and…and he hit me." Taking in a shallow, shaky breath, she leaned against the cool ceramic sink, her shoulders sagging with the weight of the secret she'd worked so hard to conceal. "I can't even remember what we were arguing about. We've been fighting about anything and everything for so long…I'm surprised things didn't blow up sooner."

"So what? He's been hitting you all this time? Stephanie, why didn't you say anything?"

Slipping her sunglasses back on, the brunette shook her head. She leaned forwards and calmly fluffed her hair in front of the mirror. "There's nothing to say," she said flatly. "This is a domestic dispute between my husband and I and we'll deal with it in private. Besides, he's been wearing a turtleneck sweater for a reason. I scratched him. If he's so willing to dish it out he should be prepared to take it too."

Lita could only stare in amazement. Had it been anyone else telling her this story, she would have laughed in their face. Every couple had their problems but she'd never expected to hear this about Stephanie and Paul. And it had reached the point where Paul was beating her. "Pardon my language Stephanie, but that's bullshit. He has no excuse for putting his hands on you."

"And he's not going to do it again," Stephanie assured her, "Don't worry about that. I have a gun hidden in one of my closets. And you know my brothers would kill him if they even heard about this. Just…please don't say anything to anyone. There are already enough things to worry about as it is. Promise me you won't talk."

Lita hesitated, and began to open her mouth to speak. "Steph-"

"_Promise_ me, Lita," she insisted. Her eyes watered as she gazed at Lita, and it was the desperation in her eyes that made the redhead eventually cave in. Stephanie was acting all aloof about the whole thing but Lita knew better. She was one of Stephanie's best friends and she knew she was hurting from this unexpected crisis in her marriage.

With a tired sigh, she retreated to her bedroom to retrieve her makeup kit. Taking out the pressed powder and a brand new brush, she began applying the makeup on Stephanie's face. The McMahon daughter's complexion was a shade lighter than she was, but she would just have to blend it in.

Lita always hated that scumbag Paul. He was living proof that no amount of wealth could ever buy a man class. Seeing what he had done to Stephanie only compounded her negative opinion on him. Lita would obey Stephanie's wishes and keep silent, but promise or no promise, if she ever saw a bruise on Stephanie's body again his brothers-in-law would be the least of Paul Levesque's problems.

* * *

By early morning, Vincent had done his usual morning routine; an hour-long walk around his mansion, dressed up and had summoned his heirs, along with Paul Levesque and Don Callaway, into his bureau. He needed to be kept abreast of things as soon as they were updated, and from what his eldest Shane told him, there was a lot to discuss.

Being in this type of business, it was expected that a few human lives would be sacrificed in bitter feuds and wars, but it didn't make the losses any less easy to deal with. He did not show it, but his sons could see that their father was hurting. Jim was his close friend and confidant for many, many years, and a very solid rock on the McMahon foundation. To lose him this way was devastating to the Family and especially to Vince. They agreed to let him grieve for as long as he wanted. But mere hours after learning of JR's death, he was all business again.

Shane, sitting beside his father, nodded politely to his brothers, Paul and Mark before speaking. "First and foremost; In the light of recent events, the live wrestling show scheduled for tomorrow will be taped instead. We're filming a Jim Ross appreciation night in its place, one befitting of a man who served the industry so well and for so long."

Everyone else nodded in agreement, and Shane continued. "In addition to that, Father will hold a meeting with the Board of Directors at HQ to talk about a replacement for JR on commentary. Jason, I'd like you to be there."

"Of course," Jay nodded.

"Lastly, Chris has an update on the Chief of Police's investigation into the shooting at the Inn. Chris?"

All eyes fell on Chris as he pulled out his notepad and began to relay its contents to the rest of the room. "According to the Chief of Police, all the victims died from gunshot wounds. There were no survivors. CSIs retrieved the IDs of the Inn's employees; three in number. They accounted for two of them at the crime scene, but the third was missing; someone named Randy Ross."

Vince paled. "Jim's son."

The silence that followed those words was deafening. "Son? Wait...JR had a _son_?" Shane finally said. He suddenly feared that age was finally catching up with his father. But to everyone's surprise, both Vince and Mark nodded their heads. "Father, are you sure?"

"As sure as we know that Eric Bischoff masterminded this whole thing," said Mark in his usual gruff tone. "JR and his wife adopted a son many years ago. He lived with Jim at the Inn."

"But we've never _seen_ him before," Dave said, sounding as stunned as everyone else looked.

"And with good reason. Jim went through great lengths to keep the boy a secret, including keeping us quiet," Mark said. "He did not want the boy to be exposed to what we do. We respected his decision; very noble of him, in fact. I haven't laid eyes on the boy since he was a child. He can't be older than eighteen years old."

"Seventeen, according to the ID found at the Inn," Chris clarified, looking over at his father, who for some reason, seemed to have forgotten how to speak. "Father? You okay?"

"Yeah, got sumthin' on your mind, Pops?" asked John.

Shaking his head slowly, as if just breaking out of a trance, Vince rediscovered his voice. "About a week ago, Jim told me he was not on speaking terms with the boy. They got into a fight. He never told me if they reconciled."

"So what, the kid gets so pissed off at JR he decides to shoot up the whole place? In broad daylight?" John said, amazed.

"That's what the cops are thinking," said Chris. "Stranger than that, there were footprints that indicated that he walked out of the Inn on his own accord, _and_ with one or more accomplices."

"Maybe that's where Bischoff comes into the picture," Dave mused.

"But how in the hell does a seventeen-year-old kid get an Uzi?" asked John.

"Only if Bischoff helped him," Jay answered, a deep scowl lining his handsome face.

The room went quiet again as they all tried to digest this appalling information. Was it really possible that this seventeen-year-old boy was responsible for not just JR's murder, but such a brutal massacre?

Having sat quietly all this while, Paul decided to speak. Hiking up his black turtleneck collar, he said; "In light of everything I've just heard, Godfather, I feel an urgent need to bring this up. You once said the day would come when I could form my own family."

All the McMahon sons turned to glare at him. Trust Paul to remember something like that at a time like this. They were all aware that Paul had visions of grandeur, his tendency to portray himself to be more important than he was. But the McMahon boys acknowledged, grudgingly, that Levesque was his own man, with clout of his own and a family to protect.

"Until today I would never think of such a thing but now I must ask your permission," he continued, his expression meek but full of resolve.

Don McMahon eyed his son-in-law closely. "Well, Shane is head of the family now and if he gives his permission then you have my blessing."

Nodding respectfully at his father, Shane said, "After we make the move to New York permanent you can break off from the McMahon Family and go off on your own. We'll leave Connecticut for you to run. But only _after_ we make the move to New York."

Paul frowned. "And how long will that take?"

"Six more months," Shane replied.

Paul seemed to be surprised by this, but he made no comment. He bowed his head, tapping the tips of his fingers together, and then looked back at Vince. "Forgive me, Godfather, and no offense to Shane, but with you gone I will come under Bischoff's thumb sooner or later. If Bischoff has his way, in six months' time there won't be anything left to build on. He already has Nevada wrapped up. Even when he was in jail, he had a part of Connecticut. He'll be aiming for New York too. He's started operating again and we can all see how he's going about it. I'm not just thinking of myself, Godfather; I'm thinking about your daughter, your grandchildren-" He then looked around at his brothers-in-law, "-your only sister and your nephews. With two families joining forces we can be stronger."

"Do you have faith in my judgment, Paul?" asked Vincent.

Paul meekly bowed his head. "Yes."

"Do I have your loyalty?"

"Always, Godfather."

"Then listen to Shane. Do as he says."

"Be patient with us, Paul," said Shane. "Do you really think we'd leave you unprotected? Leave our sister unprotected? Once we have our businesses sorted out, you can move out on your own. I give you my word."

John leaned back in his seat, curling his large hands into fists. "Meanwhile, we better find that kid. God knows I can't wait to get my hands on him."

"Bischoff has screwed over the McMahons for the last time, brothers," Jay declared, barely concealing his frustration and hatred. "He has taken too much from us. JR's death must be avenged!"

The bureau buzzed with the sons' consent, but Vince put his hand up to silence them. "Enough talk about this 'vengeance' crap. Too much blood has been shed in the name of vengeance. We will find the boy, yes. But we'll give him the benefit of the doubt and hear his side of the story."

"And if that 'story' isn't to our satisfaction, what happens to him?" asked Dave.

Vince looked round at all his sons, his gaze steely, unwavering and shining with the retribution he'd just denounced. They knew the answer to the question before he even uttered the words.

"Then he'll be accordingly disposed of."

* * *

**_A/N: This chapter was a bit 'meh' for me, but I hope you like it anyway. Please review. Suggestions are also welcomed and carefully considered. _**


	21. You Have No Idea

_**A/N: Thank you so much to **Quinny'sJellyBean, Shandy777, AngelsDestiny22, Tiffyxox **and** macy misa **for the reviews. Sorry it's taken so long to update LBM. I hope people are still reading it, haha.**_

_**Anyway, enjoy this next update!**_

* * *

_**Chapter 21**_

_**You Have No Idea…**_

Randy sat slumped against the door in the back of the black Ford Taurus, his arms crossed over his torso as if hugging himself. He stared out the window in silence, looking at the passing scenery without really seeing any of it, the look in his eyes hollow and devastated. The cuts on his arms and hands throbbed, but he felt none of them. He couldn't feel anything other than a pain that needed more than bandages to heal.

He would never heal. Jim Ross and Michelle McCool, the two people he loved most in the world, were dead. Murdered, gunned down in cold blood. He could still see Jim's pale face, his eyes fluttering shut as he took his final, shuddering breaths. He never got to say goodbye to Michelle, never even got to see her or hold her one last time. Had her body also been riddled with bullets, like Rob and Booker? Her head blown apart like Jack? He didn't know, and now he never would.

"What's your name, kid?"

The sound of the voice cut sharply, unpleasantly into Randy's thoughts. His mind barely registered that a question was being addressed to him. Slightly disoriented, he turned to his right, where Eric Bischoff sat in the other side of the car. "Randy," he answered in a voice that sounded nothing like his own. "Randy Ross."

Bischoff looked surprised. "Ross? You mean JR? I didn't know JR had a son."

"You're not the only one," the teenager replied dully, barely looking his rescuer in the eye. JR had kept quiet about the real identity of his adoptive son to protect him from the outside world, from enemies. Or so he had told Randy. Now he was dead. Randy felt the tears sting at his eyes, but he forced them back.

The car pulled up at an empty gas station, with a convenience store a few feet away. The one called Rosey climbed out to fill up the gas tank. Jamal shifted in the passenger's seat and turned to Bischoff and Randy. "You want anything from in there, Boss?" he asked.

"No, but if you can find some clothes, get some for young Randy over here," Bischoff said. Randy looked down at himself. His T-shirt and jeans were stained with blood. JR's blood. He swallowed hard, trying to curb the wave of nausea that suddenly came over him.

"Do you want anything from the store?" Bischoff was asking him.

Shaking his head, Randy turned away, watching Jamal amble into the store. His eyes drifted idly over the store window, then fell upon the newspaper stand. He squinted at one of the captions, and his breath caught in his throat.

_**NATION STILL IN SHOCK OVER BISCHOFF'S ACQUITTAL**_

The photo right underneath the headline contained the smug expression of the man Randy was sharing the back of a black Ford with. All the other papers had his face splashed on their front pages. Bischoff; the one Michelle was talking about; the man JR had testified against. His green eyes snapped towards the two gigantic men, and recognition swept over him in an instant. These were the men that showed up at the Inn to scare off JR, the day they had that nasty fight. Randy felt sick to his stomach.

Something was very, very wrong.

Jamal had left the store now, walking a little faster than normal. Randy looked over at Rosey, who was almost done filling up the tank. Both were distracted. Was this his chance?

Randy turned to face Bischoff. "Can I get out for a second?" he asked, sounding much calmer than he felt. "I just need some air."

Bischoff tossed the new clothes at him. "Change into these first. Twenty seconds and we're gone."

Randy dressed quickly and climbed out of the car, his mind racing, hands trembling slightly. He needed to get out of here. But how? His eyes darted to the gun tucked into Rosey's belt behind him. Surely if he made a run for it, the big man would not hesitate to use that gun. Or would he? There was only one way to find out. It was virtual suicide, but he had to, if he was going to have any chance at escaping.

Randy casually strolled past Rosey, and his next move was lightning-quick. Snatching the gun from Rosey's holster he turned it on the big man. Jamal reacted just as quickly, pointing his own gun at the young boy. "Drop the gun!" he shouted.

"Hold your fire!" Bischoff yelled at Jamal. He had jumped out of the car, gesturing wildly at his henchman. "God damn it, Jamal, do _not_ pull that trigger!" Bischoff turned back to Randy, his expression more confused than fearful. "What are you doing, kid?"

Randy did not change his stance. The adrenaline had taken a hold of him. "Stay back! Don't come any closer or I'll shoot him!"

"This is a gas station!" shouted Bischoff, "You fire and you'll blow us all to smithereens!"

Randy's smile was humorless. "Then I'll be doing the entire country a favor, wont I?" he replied. He saw Bischoff's eyes dart in the newsstand's direction, and comprehension swept across his wrinkled face. He put up both his hands slowly. "Come on kid. Let's talk about this-"

"JR had nothing nice to say about you. Nobody did! Those two-" he jerked his head in the direction of Rosey and Jamal, "-showed up at the Inn the other day and put a scare to JR! I don't know if you're kidnapping me or whatever, but if you just let me go I won't say anything to anyone, I promise."

"Okay. But where are you gonna go?" Bischoff asked. "Surely you can't go back to the Inn. The cops will be all over that place right now and they'll be looking for you. If they find out you're alive, it's not going to go well for you, son."

"You should have left me there!" argued Randy, "you shouldn't have taken me away!"

Bischoff sighed. "You know what? You're right. We shouldn't have. We can take you back, Rosey will take you. If you think you'll be safe, we'll take you there right now. Just say the word."

_Go! You're better off without them._ Randy's subconscious yelled. But go where? "I can't," he admitted quietly, bowing his head in despair. "I have nowhere to go."

The silence in the air was thick, tense. "Come on. Give Rosey his gun back," Eric said softly, looking right at Randy. "I'm your only hope right now, Randy, and you know it. Come on. You may be young, but I know you're smart."

Randy didn't move, and Bischoff nodded at Rosey. The burly man stepped up to Randy and gently took the gun out of his hands before guiding him back into the car. They drove away from the station without any further incident.

* * *

Within an hour they were in the countryside on the outskirts of Connecticut. They pulled up to a modest-looking country house, and as they went inside, Randy gazed around with a raised eyebrow. This was not the kind of place Randy expected someone like Eric Bischoff to be living in.

"Tragic, isn't it?" Bischoff piped up beside him, a look of disdain on his face, "But this is what you have to endure when you've been forced into hiding. Come."

Randy followed Bischoff up the stairs. The older man stopped and held a door open. Inside looked like a small office space, the room empty except for a desk and two chairs on each side. "How about you and I have a chat, Randy?" he asked, gesturing for Randy to come in. "You want a drink?"

The teenager shook his head as he took the seat opposite Bischoff. "So, tell me about yourself, Randy," said Bischoff. "You said not too many people know who you are. I'm curious about what you meant by that." Seeing the skeptical look on the boy's face, the older man shook his head and smiled. "It's okay, kid, you can talk to me."

Still, Randy hesitated. Because all of this was weird, suspicious even. He barely knew this man. He was a complete stranger, and now he was asking to confide in him. Still, he owed the man. He'd rescued him after all. Besides, how much harm could he cause by getting things off his chest?

So he began to talk, and he talked and talked; about what he knew about JR's line of work, how it was always shrouded in secrecy, his own ambitions to wrestle, JR's initial lack of support. He found himself revealing much more than he had ever disclosed with JR, or even Michelle, releasing years of doubt and worry and fear. When he was done, it was like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders and actually looked physically weakened by it.

It was a while before Bischoff finally responded, and when he did, his expression was grim. "Well…It all makes so much sense now."

Randy frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I have a story of my own to tell, Randy, and believe it or not, it doesn't sound much different from yours."

Randy sat up straighter in his seat, clearly intrigued.

"I owned a wrestling company once. World Championship Wrestling, otherwise known as WCW. It gave the WWE a run for its money for years, a lot of healthy competition. The ratings were huge, and we were making a shitload of money. I splurged the earnings on the staff and the boys in the back. They deserved it because they'd worked their butts to reach that success. Then suddenly, things got a little sour. Our ratings were dropping like flies, the merchandise wasn't shipping well and the guys in the locker room weren't happy. We were losing a lot of money, and I mean a _lot_. Then Vince McMahon approached me. He knew the WCW wasn't doing so great, so he put an offer on the table. He wanted to use both our companies to peddle drugs. Apparently that was the big money-maker these days. If our guys used it, they'd be stronger, perform better in the ring. I wasn't having it. I couldn't; are you kidding me? The Feds would have shut us down without even blinking. I wasn't going to risk my company's reputation, my life's work like that.

"So I told him to go to hell. Next thing I know my boys are jumping ship. One by one. The WWE starts stealing my talent, dangling these ridiculous pay rises in their faces. I did everything I could to keep them, but WCW just didn't have the money anymore. Then I find out my talent have been using performance-enhancing drugs for years. To make matters worse, someone tipped off the Feds and they began circling over my company like vultures. I was ruined.

"The next thing I know, I hear their son is dead, murdered in front of his home, and who's the first person they point to? Me; that I did it to avenge the downfall of my company. I was already out of town the day it happened but I had no intention of going back, not when McMahon had manipulated the FBI into getting me indicted. I had no choice but to disappear. And I did. For seventeen years. I only returned to the States about three months before I got arrested."

"Why did you come back?"

"Because I was tired of running. I may be a lot of things, done a lot of questionable things in my life, but I did not kill Adam McMahon. The evidence proved that and I was acquitted."

Bischoff regarded the teenager for a moment. "I heard through the grapevine that the _Consigliere_ was planning to retire. Clearly, someone didn't want him to and did something about it. JR had a lot of enemies. Don't look so alarmed, son, he did. It comes with the job. Being associated with the McMahon name grants you a big fat bullseye on your back."

Randy was stunned. Even he hadn't known that JR wanted to retire. He had seemed too focused on his job to even consider it. Why hadn't he told him?

Bischoff hadn't missed his shocked look. "So he didn't tell you. There's a lot of things your father has kept from you, kid, and that's dangerous. Very dangerous. In his defense though, I'm guessing, JR probably told Vince of his plans first before telling you. I'm guessing Vince couldn't handle it. JR is too important to him. Vince has never been able to handle things when they don't go his way."

So JR had finally made the decision to walk away and he did not live to carry it out. Someone made sure he hadn't. But what about Michelle? She hadn't done anything wrong. Nothing! And they'd killed her anyway. It burned Randy that people could be so callous, so evil. He just wanted to hurt someone, make them hurt as badly as he was hurting, as badly as Michelle and JR had hurt before they died.

Leaning forward, Bischoff linked his fingers together, looking the teenager right in the eyes. "I want to help you, Randy. I'm the only one who's been able to take on those McMahons head-on and survive. I've got the scars to show for it. Something tells me there wasn't supposed to be any survivors, and the moment they realized that you're alive, that shooting will be pinned on you. You say you've never seen them since you were five? We'll _they_'ve definitely seen _you_, and they knew exactly what they were doing when they did what they did, when they killed JR and your girlfriend Michelle."

Randy stiffened at the sound of her name. Again tears welled up in his eyes.

"Yes, Randy. Vince McMahon is the reason they're dead. Jim Ross, your father figure. Your girlfriend, Michelle too; she just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But the McMahons don't care about that. They don't care who they hurt, who they murder in cold blood as long as their personal interests are protected."

"I can't believe this," Randy muttered, this time allowing the tears to fall.

"Oh, believe it, son," insisted Bischoff. "I understand that JR was trying to protect you from all of this. I mean no disrespect when I say this, but with what he does for a living, he was naïve to think he could keep you hidden forever. I can teach you things JR should have. You need to know exactly who you're dealing with. It may take weeks, months, even years, but it will all be worth it when the McMahon Family pays for everything they've done to you. To _us_."

"But how? What can I do?" asked Randy. "I'm just a teenager."

Bischoff smiled. "Oh, my dear boy…you have no idea what you're capable of. But in a matter of time, you will."

Randy lowered his head, his heart hardening with each passing second. Bischoff was right. He couldn't let the McMahons get away with this.

"Vince McMahon took everything away from me. _Everything_! He turned me into a pariah, had me running for my life for seventeen years. I want revenge and so do you. I can see it in your eyes. You want answers. You want payback. You want protection. I will give you everything you want if we work together. So…will you join me, Randy? Will you stand by me?"

The boy made no move for several seconds. Finally, he slowly looked up, and Eric found himself looking into the green eyes of a transformed boy. No, not a boy, not anymore, but a man. A man that had vengeance running through his veins. Just the way Bischoff wanted.

"Yes."

* * *

"The kid's in his room, Boss."

Bischoff looked up from his desk. "Good. Thank you, Jamal. Get some rest. We start tomorrow."

Jamal nodded, but remained standing by the door. He cleared his throat. "You really think this is gonna work, Boss?"

"Oh, but it's already working." He returned his work, adding dismissively, "That will be all."

"Okay. Goodnight, Boss."

When the door shut, Bischoff allowed himself a smile. It hadn't been easy; the boy had been skeptical as expected. But he finally managed to convince him that McMahon was responsible for the shooting at the Inn. He'd had his eyes on the boy for a while now. He had great potential. Bischoff planned to nurture it, mold it and use it to complete the last piece of the decades-long plan. Then, he would sit back and watch the show.

At last, the McMahon dynasty was going to be destroyed. And he wouldn't even have to lift a finger.

_Kill them all, but leave the boy alive. I have plans for him…_

* * *

_**A/N: Please review. **_


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